Half Nelson
by lady-adonis
Summary: There are rules in the business that he followed throughout his career. When he broke those rules after he found something to live for, those rules broke him leaving him alone with nothing but dead bodies and an unclear lead.
1. Chapter 1

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego bluffers.**

The rules were simple.

You do not slack.  
>You do not trade.<br>You do not deceive your team members.  
>If a job becomes too dangerous, you do not abandon your team.<br>You do not associate with civilians unless absolutely necessary when doing a job.

Those were his rules. Simple. Easy to follow. But life has a way of sending you to places you never thought you'd be and making decisions you never thought you'd make. This is what happened to him over four years ago. Somewhere, beneath and behind that cold mask that was put up to hinder any possible rapports outside of work was let down and he felt himself falling into this hole of imminent light, not noticing that his feet were no longer on the ground.

His decisions and choices since the moment he made the biggest mistake of his life has now been the destruction of him. He was stone, and he was just fine getting on by himself...but somehow, someone managed to carve and engrave in his masonry...and the lines became blurred. Finally, he had something to live for and now he didn't have anything at all.

Right now, he sits in an empty hotel room in the middle of Las Vegas. He checked in partially because he had nowhere to go, but mostly because he wanted to get as far away from home as possible. He couldn't stand being in the same state. Everything was horrible, and everything hurt. When he checked in to this hotel, he sighed with disgust and he remembered how the youthful him - so far in the past - was excited when he checked into his first expensive hotel. The fancy black marble floors and counter tops that seemed so cold to step on but had a meaning of echelon and dire importance...now, they just reminded him of how everything he ever loved had been ripped away from him. The parchment colored walls with the one unique painting in the center of the south wall used to ignite a flame of desire in the once young man's heart. But now, all they did was remind him of the past life that he no longer wanted to be apart of.  
>He went to mini-bar, got himself a large, expensive bottle of Bourbon and now he sat. On the floor, with his back against the stone cold wall, he occasionally endeavored enough energy to actually lift the bottle to his lips and take a big, long gulp. This left him feeling a little more blundered, which is what he wanted. To forget.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

_Arthur stood in the middle of a vacant warehouse, and his eyes sparkled in bewilderment as he was reminded of the times he spent in there. They were short lived, the memories, but that didn't mean they meant any less to him. The days leading up to the inception were taunt and harrowing, he can't be reminded of a time when he stressed more about the complexity of a job, or the perfection of everything. How he would run tests with Ariadne daily, every hour on the hour, and despite wanting to tell her how amazing everything was, he also had to be truthful.  
>"Needs to be more intricate," he'd say, handing her sketches back to her. "It's really good, but add a few more things and there we should find an amiable compromise."<br>He remembered how, during the downtime, he'd have to constantly tell Eames not to fool around or take it lightly. It was a shame because the forger was usually slightly perceptible during important jobs, but on this one, since they hadn't seen each other in a while, he felt the urge to annoy the point with constant jests and teases.  
>He also recalled the time that Yusuf told him that he had perfected the sedative and asked him if they could both go under. Arthur went under and after a few tumbles and tosses, he felt that the kick sychronization was well crafted and perfected.<br>In the end, everything worked out fine anyway. It was only a matter of who. Now how, what, or when, but who the team-members were.  
>Saito had told Cobb to choose his members more wisely and Arthur was impressed with how well it worked out. He had chosen a steady, level-headed group of people who respected the business and did amazingly well for such a complicated job. Sometimes, on rare occasions only, Cobb's insanity impresses him.<br>After the success of the 'Fischer-Morrow Suicide Mission', Arthur took a long break, laying low in his hometown of Sacramento and lying low. He spent a little bit of time with his family, not going out as much, out of fear of any tails. He tried to stay away from dream sharing for a little bit of time in order to balance out his psyche after the death-trap of a mission he walked into, but it was difficult. Eventually, he had to leave Sacramento, go to New York and scope out new jobs. It was almost hard trying to find a new job after seven long months of rest and rejuvenation. Being the point man, however, nothing was ever that hard. He found a simple extraction under going in Madagascar. Before flying down south, however, he wanted to stop by Paris. He would be lying if he said that his main reason was actually a good one. He just wanted to see the warehouse. To see if anyone had finally occupied it.  
>No one did.<em>

_He scoped the room with a small, undetectable smirk edging his lips. As he looked around the room, gazing at people who weren't there, he noticed a white sheet of paper in the corner. He frowned, knowing that he scanned every inch of that place before they caught the flight to Austrailia. Details and information were his job.  
>He walked across the room, to the corner where the sheet was loosely lodged beneath a loose brick. He slid it out and stared at the sheet intently.<br>This place was clean when he left. He was sure of it. Why now was there a copied newspaper article lying on the concrete ground? Someone had been there._

_Just then, he heard the door rattling and he quickly stood to his feet, preparing himself for a debacle of sorts. At that moment, he couldn't even remember his reason for coming.  
>As he listened to the light footsteps gently tapping against the cement, he reached for the handgun that was tucked safely beneath his belt. He prepared to pull it out when, instead of a portentous agent, he was face to face with The Architect. Not the architect. The Architect.<br>His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. He hadn't seen her face to face in seven months and she still looked beautiful. He noticed that she was wearing something that looked completely different from the syle she had before. They was neckerchief or paisley patterns, but black jeans that deemed a "purposely slightly baggy" look about them. She had on a white and black horizontally striped patterned shirt and over it, a thin black blazer. To top it all of, her long, wavy locks were falling down the sides of her face and she wore a black hat. She looked older but, he could tell, she was still the same._

_She stared out him, mouth agape, for the longet time. There happened to be a slight crimson blush coloring her pale cheeks and he thought it to be adorable and perplexing all the same.  
>"Hi," she finally said, her voice soft and polite voice came out as a sort of whisper. "What are you doing here?"<em>

_He shrugged, removing his hand from his belt. "Just visiting...You've been here."_

_She was about to ask how he knew when he dangled the sheet of paper in between his fingers.  
>She rolled her eyes and walked forward, gently taking the sheet away from him. "The scrupulous point man notices everything, huh?"<em>

_"That's the nice way of putting it," he smiled at her, not a real smile, but a smile nonetheless. "How have you been?"_

_At this, she beamed. Her face lit up and it struck a chord with him. "I'm great! I couldn't be happier right now. As I assume you already know, I graduated. Finally! The ceremony was nice and I've gotten a lot of job offers and...now, I'm rambling. I'm sorry."_

_"No, no," Arthur shook his head. "I want to hear about it. I don't know everything that's happened in your life, it's not like I'm stalking you."_

_He was._

_"I guess you're just here by chance."_

_He wasn't._

_"Complete chance," he smiled again. "Tell me all about it."_

* * *

><p>The day started off like just another morning.<p>

It was like this every morning. She fast walked across the room, back and forth like a speedy pace searching for things that she'd "unknowingly misplaced" the night before, her polite way of saying she lost something. He sat calmly on the bed, waiting for her to gather her supplies before they headed out. But this time, it was different. This time, they had someone else to prepare: their one year old daughter, Natalie.  
>At this moment, Natalie was sitting on her father's lap, prying his fingers together and apart while he waited patiently for Ariadne. She turned to him pulling on her white jacket with an apologetic smile. She reached out for Natalie and he handed the little to her.<p>

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm not sure where I put it. Are you ready yet?"

He smiled. "I've been ready for atleast an hour."

She howled a fake laugh and rolled her eyes. "There's no need to rub it in."

Arthur smiled at the sight of his wife and his daughter side by side. Small and smaller. He gaped, bewildered as to how he could help create something so beautiful. The expression didn't go unnoticed by Ariadne who leaned down, kissed him on the forehead, and smiled at both he and her daughter.

"There's nothing quite like it," she murmured and he knew exactly what she meant.

The day started off like just another morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Beneath the world of violence, breaches, and gratuitous crime, there was the small crust that people kept hidden. That crust carried the important thing that life had to offer: love. It was no secret that if you wanted to avoid true terror, you didn't mix your career and the people you care about. That was just not how it worked...that's not how it _works_. If you wanted to keep your job, you gave up people and if you were smart enough to know when you were getting to close to someone, you ended any but of relationship you could consummate with them and left.

She made that hard for him to do and by the time he realized what was happening, it was far too late.

No.

He tried to leave. So many times...but each time he tried, the stone in his chest that most people would call a heart would begin cracking. The pumping would accelerate and the pain was too much to convey. He'd clasp his fingers over his chest and slide down to the floor, knowing that leaving her would be as hard as trying to move Mt. Everest. Then he gathered whatever energy he could, stand to his feet, and forget everything. From that pain, he knew - not just felt - but _knew _that he was in love and he couldn't, no matter how many times he tried, leave her.

He tried leaving again when Natalie was born. The night before his mind went awry, she was born. A soft, ethereal creation that could only be described as heavenly perfection was sleeping over his ostensibly large hands. He loomed over her like a giant and it was the first time he'd ever felt inferior to anything so much smaller than he was. He tried to figure what he was feeling as he stared at her, the tiny figure in his hands. Excitement, anticipation, distressed, apprehensive? As those words strung a line through his brain, he realized that he wasn't feeling any of them. Of course, he was nervous. What new father wouldn't be? And as for excitement, that was a given. But what he was really feeling, what was really stirring up in the depths of his gut was fear. Fear that he wouldn't be able to provide properly for his family. Fear that his daughter would hate him as much as he hated his own father. Fear that he wasn't good enough for them. But more than that, under those phobias was the underlying fear that the life he once had, the world he once lived in would ressurect and everything he had would vanish. Like a vampire exposed to the sun. Before long, all that would be left was a pile of ashes representing a once unfathomable monster.

The fact that hours before, he was on the verge of not having his family with him, prevented him from walking out the door like he so much wanted to, like he needed to. At once, he was regretting everything he had done. All of his mistakes flooded into his brain like a tidal wave capturing the dry sand into tumbling essence.

Ever since that moment, he'd been numbering his mistakes.

Natalie stirred and slowly, her little eyes opened and Arthur's heart almost stopped at the sight of her dark brown eyes much like his own. She was real.

Mistake #99: This wasn't a dream.

* * *

><p>The automatic doors slid open with absolute ease and Cobb stepped inside the hospital, his heart heavy and the hairs on his arms standing up at the receeding temperature. The white tiled floors were half-assedly decorated with little splotches of blue and green. He quickly walked up to the front counter and tapped his shoe as he tried to wait patiently for the visitors in front of him to finish.<p>

He thought back to when he got the first phone call. Arthur's voice was panicky, yet stable.

"Cobb," he nearly yelled through the speaker. "It's time. The baby's coming. I know you've got Phillipa's recital, but when you can, I really need you to drop by. I have no idea what I'm doing."

Cobb smiled. That was the first time he'd ever heard the point man so confused and abashed. "Arthur, calm down. Everything's going to be fine. I'll meet you there in a little while, alright?"

They agreed on that and everything was fine. Then there was the second phone call, in the middle of Phillipa's recital, the one that really changed everything. After whispering apologies and stepping out of the auditorium of the elementary school, Cobb answered his phone.

"Hello," he said in a low voice.

"Cobb," Arthur's voice was strained. "Something's wrong."

Now Cobb was here, awaiting the news. Whatever it would be.

"Sir?"

The former extractor looked up from the floor and into the eyes of a teenaged girl who was smiling politely at him. He stepped up to the counter and said Arthur's name. She checked her clipboard and nodded at him, told him he could sit in the waiting room.

There he was. Waiting.

* * *

><p>Arthur caressed her hair and held her hand tight as she pushed and screamed. After another blow, she fell back onto the plush pillows, there were tears in her eyes. The EKG machine next to the bed alerted him that her heartbeat had accelerated exponentially. She was taking deep panicked breaths.<p>

She turned her head to him weakly, her eyes fluttering. "I can't do it," she whispered.

Arthur nodded. "Yes, you can. Yes, you can-"

"No," she shook her head. "I can't do it. I really can't, Arthur."

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "One more push, that's all."

She believed him. She tried to smile at him. She was too feeble. She pushed again.

There was a lot of noise. The beeping of EKG, Ariadne's screams, the doctor's demands...but all of it was silenced out when he heard the cry of the newborn baby ripping through the air. His heart skipped a beat. He smiled happily and turned to Ariadne, but she wasn't there. Her beautiful brown eyes were rolling back before the fluttered closed and her firm, piercing grip on his hand loosened. He could feel the blood rushing back, and that was the worst feeling. He reached out and touched her cheek lightly.

"Ari?" He breathed out to her. He could feel the tears burning through his eyes.

"She's not getting any oxygen," someone called out behind him.

Arthur turned around and saw the doctor yelling at a nurse. "What's going on?"

"She can't breathe!"

"What happened?" Arthur asked, referring to his wife. "What's wrong with her?"

"The chord's wrapped around her neck," the nurse said in a rush.

Arthur froze. His wife and his daughter were in trouble.

The same nurse looked over Arthur, at Ariadne and ran forward. "She's passed out."

"Can you feel a pulse?" The doctor asked.

"Barely."

Then chaos erupted and all that Arthur could hear was the deafening beep of EKG machine at a dead still. The nurses pushed past him and ran to his wife, the doctor stayed focused on his daughter. One of the nurses ran up to him, placing his hands on Arthur's chest and pushing him back.

"You need to leave," he said gently.

* * *

><p>Cobb and Arthur sat next to each other in the waiting room, both holding steaming cups of coffee, but neither of them bothering to actually drink it. Cobb watched Arthur from the corner of his eye, his worry eating away at his insides. Arthur was pale, purple bruises under his eyes and his face was padded with a thin layer of perspiration. Cobb hadn't spoken a word since Arthur walked out, only telling him that they kicked him out.<p>

"They won't let me see her," he said in a low voice, sinking down into the chair.

Now, Arthur was riveted on the poorly designed floor, his coffee steaming up over his glasses. Cobb looked away from him, afraid that the more he stared at him, the more worried he would become.

"What if I lose them?" He asked Cobb in a whisper.

Cobb turned to him and watching him warily.

"I mean," Arthur continued in a mumble. "What if she dies? What if they both die? What am I going to do? I won't have anything to live for, not without them."

"Don't say that," Cobb spoke in a furious whisper. How could Arthur of all people be giving up? And on the one thing he loved most, for that matter. "If you give up, it's over."

Arthur scoffed. "I'm not a child, Cobb, don't lie to me. Don't fill my head with false positive things to make me smile. Tell me the truth...Am I going to see my family alive?"

It was in those dark, brown eyes that Cobb found more than just a neophyte in dream sharing who had to be taught the go around. More than just a young man who he felt obligated to protect. More than someone who he depended on. More than a friend, a brother, or a point. He saw a man ready to do anything for his family. And it was in that that Cobb found the answer.

"Yes," he said in a firm, yet gentle voice. "You are going to see your wife and your daughter awake and healthy. You're going to live a long life with them. I promise."

That day, Cobb had been half right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

The day started off like any other morning.

Darkness was the only thing to revel in once Arthur shut his eyes and maundered off into a dreamless slumber. When he awoke to the ringing of the alarm clock, the only visual he could remember from his dream was black. Nothing but a bottomless pit of murkiness. It was the same that topical morning.

The electric alarm clock blustered him awake with computerized beeps. He opened his eyes slowly and he could barely make out the sunlight pouring in through the thin curtains of his bedroom. The first thing he felt was the soft, petite hand that was lazily resting against his neck. Then the rhythmic breathing as well as the heart beat gently pounding through the palm, beating against his throat. He turned his head very slowly, making sure he didn't wake anyone and he saw his little girl lying next to him, her head resting against his shoulder and her arm reaching up to his neck. Her breath was tickling his arm and he smiled down at her.

Behind her was Ariadne with her arms safely tucked around her sprightly little girl. Her hair was going up in spirals against the white pillow, a sight that Arthur had seen a million times...yet it still surprised him. As he gazed at the two ivory-skinned graceful creatures that he was blessed to be with, he reached over and turned the alarm off without taking his eyes off of them.

This was his morning. It had been his morning for exactly one year. Before this, he didn't think his mornings could any better. He woke up to a beautiful woman who's swelling stomach constantly reminded him how much more beautiful things would become. He was the luckiest man alive.

* * *

><p>Showers were always filled with stress, despite the notion that they were meant to be stress releasers and relinquish the tenseness of each day or night. But with his time in the shower, he made the mistake of thinking and eventually his discursive thoughts would go from lighter subjects to scenarios that would opress his heart.<p>

It was only around his family that he ever really felt infinite. Like anything was possible...Like, he could fall off the Empire State Building and not feel a single ounce of fear because he kenw for sure that his wings would span out and he would fly.

Step by step dressing. Pulling on his underwear, sticking his legs through his dress pants, tucking the ends of the white cotton Calvin Kline shirt beneath the round, looping the black belt through the holes, smoothing his dark hair back. It only took a few minutes for him to go from a family man to the cold hearted business he was perceived to be at work.

But today was different.

Today was Natalie's first birthday. Today was a big day. This would be the day that he would look back on as his daughter grew older and older. He would want to look back on this day on her sixteenth birthday, her prom, wedding day, the day she gives birth to her first child. He wanted to look back on all the memories of his daughter and remembered this day.

He recalled the day Ariadne mentioned names as she stroked her belly, sporting three months.

_"What do you think she'll be like?" He asked her, crawling onto the bed next to her. "Do you think she'll be athletic? Do you think she'll be a social butterfly? Or someone who doesn't fit in with their peers? Someone wise beyond her years? A person who writes songs like 'Behind Blue Eyes'?"_

_Ariadne smiled, her face was glowing with the happiness that came along with dreaming about her unborn child. "First thing's first: how do you know we're going to have a daughter?"_

_"I can feel it," he smiled. A real smile. "Besides, I'm a man...Aren't I supposed to be willful on having a boy and a boy only? If I were just guessing, I would've guessed boy. We're having a girl."_

_She laughed softly, not looking at him but peeking down to the barely round surface of her stomach. It was hardened and smooth, a small bump rising beneath her shirt. "Seeing as both her parents were misfits, she might be one. But then again, it could skip a generation and she'll be the popular kind."_

_"You were popular," Arthur said with a confused tone. "I bet you were remembered."_

_"Not with fond thoughts," she countered. "I don't know, maybe some of the burnouts thought it was cool that I defaced public property."_

_"See, I find that really cool."_

_"You _were _a burnout."_

_He scoffed, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "No, I wasn't."_

_"Fine," she sighed. "You were acquainted with burnouts."_

_"That's better."_

_She laughed again. "You know, I really don't know what she'll be. I can't see it. She could be anything."_

* * *

><p>Natalie smiled up at her father, pushing her tiny hands against his cheek, making traces over his stubble. She had three teeth coming in; two at the bottom and one at the top. Her smile was becoming more lifelike everyday and it reminded Arthur that this was real. He rarely ever used his totem anymore.<p>

She looked just like Ariadne, but she had his eyes. This was something he was proud of. In the supermarket, or at the park, when someone turned the attention to his daughter, he proudly stated that they had the same eyes. It reminded him that Natalie was something of his. Literally. And he had to protect it.

Ariadne walked by the two one more time and once again, Arthur caught a whiff of the cherry blossom products she loved so much. She has the used the same body wash, moisturizer, and perfume as she had when they first met. Cherry Blossom. That smell used to signify some deeply rooted memory of being pushed out of his friend's car after he'd decided to make out with his girlfriend, but now all it meant was that Ariadne was near by.

"Have you seen my portfolio?" She asked while she rifled through a pile of clothes on the floor. "It was here last night."

"I'm sure it'll turn up," he said, not looking away from Natalie's eyes. "We'll worry about it later."

"I know, but...Jorge said he needed it today," she tossed a white shirt over her shoulder.

"The plan was that you were supposed to forget all about it and by the time we were long gone, you'd remember and I'd turn to you and say 'I've already sent it out; don't worry about it' but seeing as we're going to be late..."

A thick sweatshirt was thrown Arthur's way and he smiled.

"You are preposterous," she said in a low voice.

"I love you more," he whispered, handing Natalie to her.

* * *

><p>The day was planned all the way through, right to a T. It was all about Natalie. No work, no phone calls related to work, no taking detours because of work. Ariadne wasn't allowed to answer the phone about her architectural designs or offers and Arthur wasn't allowed to answer for real estate.<p>

The first thing they would do is take Natalie to the petting zoo where she would marvel at the giraffes and black bears especially. Reaching her hands out to pet them, but being pulled away from her fearful father. They would take pictures.

Then they would go to the ice cream parlor and order an ice cream cake for the three of them. They would take more pictures.

They'd get her some new clothes, but she'd get to pick them out. The one she grabbed would be what she would get. They would take more pictures

The day would end with them watching a movie, tucking her in, and going to sleep.

Atleast, that was how it was supposed to end.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

"Once upon a time," his deep voice crackled through the silence and instrumental lullabies. "There was a magnificent little girl named Natalie. Natalie was the most beautiful girl on the face of the earth with the most hypnotizing eyes that anyone anywhere had ever seen. She had dark, dark hair like that of the night sky...dark, dark, dark...but her eyes were the brightest. Natalie lived in a world different from this one, it was almost as if she hadn't existed here. Meanwhile, in the other world - in this world - there lived a man named Arthur and Arthur was a really happy man. He had the most, _the most, _alluring, attractive, gorgeous, wonderful woman married to him and he loved her dearly. And by some miracle, she loved him back. Arthur didn't think his life could get any better than that. But then, one day, he found out that the woman he loved was carrying something. Something of his. Something of theirs. She was carrying Natalie. In her heart. And if they both gave Natalie enough love, to prove to her that this world would be good for her, Natalie would come and live with them. So, Arthur and his wife, Ariadne, prepared. Stocking and re-stocking up on foods and clothing that Natalie would be used to. The place that she came from insisted that Arthur and Ariadne could get her in nine months...but something went off. Apparently, Natalie loved the couple already and couldn't wait to come and stay with them. So, eight months - not nine - eight months later, Natalie came. And Arthur and Ariadne were so happy, but they were worried too. Since Natalie arrived early, she didn't get some of her possessions from the other world. When she entered this one, she was lost...so, Arthur and Ariadne made sure she got better. Not even Ariadne...Arthur had to worry about both of his girls, both of them. Ariadne was weak after Natalie came...the people of this world who nurse one another were convinced that she wouldn't make it. And that worried Arthur so much. He felt like he was going to lose his family. So he begged and he pleaded...the next day, he awoke to see Ariadne, beautiful as ever, holding in her arms a sleeping Natalie. That's been the best day of his life; always will be."

Arthur caressed the girl's dark hair with his index finger, gently touching her head.

"Natalie," he whispered. "Daddy loves you more than you could ever imagine."

* * *

><p>By ten o'clock, Arthur and Ariadne were curled up against each other in their king sized bed, prepared to sleep, but neither of them really wanting to just yet. It was here, safely tucked under the sheets with his wife, safely tucked away from the world that Arthur felt most at ease. It was in those eyes, he was convinced. Those honey brown, light brown, golden brown, heavenly eyes of hers that made him shake with fear...made him angrier than ever...aroused him...saddened him...made him everything he was and more.<p>

"I think today went well," she said. "I think...It okay for a first birthday, don't you?"

"Okay?"

"Well, with all things considered..."

"What things?"

"Arthur, you know what I'm talking about, do I really need to say it?"

Arthur shrugged. "No, I guess not. You're right. It went well."

"Do you think it could've been better? Did we try hard enough? Should we have had a party...?"

"No. We agreed that her first birthday would be, realistically, the only year we'd get alone with her. After that, we can actually invite Cobb and the kids."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And Eames."

"You're joking, right?"

She groaned, but there was a faint smile on her face. "He's our friend."

"No," Arthur shook his head slowly. "No. He's _not _my friend, and I don't want him anywhere near our family or our house or..."

As he ranted on, Ariadne reached up, cupped his cheek and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. She lingered for a moment before pulling away and repositioning herself in his warm arms. He smiled slowly, the center of his cheeks indenting.

"Okay."

"That's better," she laughed.

"She's...growing up so fast. I feel like tomorrow I'm going to wake up and she'll be leaving for college. I'm not ready for that yet."

"Oh, God," Ariadne covered her face in his chest. "Time flies when you're not looking. It runs away from you and once you realize it's gone...fifty years have passed."

"Fifty? Still celebrating her birthday...Not just hers, though. She'll need some company in a few years."

Ariadne groaned, her face still covered.

"We talked about it," he says. "Won't you want another one? I mean, not anytime soon, of course."

"I know," she says quietly. "And I want more...but Nat was so tiring."

"That's a given," Arthur smiled. "Remember how disoriented we were?"

"How could I forget? You know, my mom used to tell me about how exhausting things became when you had your first kid but I didn't understand the gravity of it until she came...It's funny how the best things that happen to you can sometimes have bad side affects," she chuckled. "I still can't believe how loud her crying was."

"It was amazing. The first time, I held her she looked so tiny and barely there, but when she cried her existence was certain."

"That's the polite way of putting it."

Arthur smiled something devious and slithered his arms around her slender waist, burying his face in her hair. "Our family is going to expand. Definitely. Who wouldn't want to relive that awful period of sleeplessness and constant crying?"

She laughed, louder this time and pushed him away. She stared up into his eyes. "I guess we should get to work."

Arthur nodded slowly in agreement before holding a finger up. "Or."

"Or?"

"We could watch your favorite movie, have some Chocolate Chip ice cream, and sleep until the excitement of today has worn off."

She sighed contently. "Chocolate Chip and _Annie Hall..._Amazing."

She paused. "You'd have to go and get the ice cream." She pulled him closer, holding his face between her hands.

He smiled and nodded. "I'll go get the ice cream," he whispered before kissing her sweetly.

* * *

><p>When Arthur looked back on this night, he thought of all the things he could have done differently and envisioned it. He saw himself running backwards to his car and slamming the door. He saw himself driving in reverse to the grocery store. He saw himself stepping out of his vehicle with a bag of ice cream in his hand. He saw himself walking backwards into the store and handing the bag of ice cream to the bag boy who then took it out of the bag and handed it to the cashier who handed it back to Arthur. And he walked backwards to the dairy section and put the tub of ice cream back in the freezer. And he walked backwards to his car and drove in reverse to his home. He walked backwards out of his car, into his house, taking off his shoes, and putting his coat on the racket. He walked backwards up the stairs and into his bedroom and took off the clothes he had thrown on and changed back into his pajamas. He lied back on the bed with his wife and told her that he would go get the ice cream backwards. Everything backwards.<p>

But no.

He did what he did.

Mistake #156: He left them.

Arthur drove back to his house with a smile on his face. He thought about everything right with his life and how happy he was that God put him where he was then. First of all, they had the ice cream that he and Ariadne loved so much. Secondly, he was about to have a date night with his wife similar to the ones he'd shared in her apartment all those ages ago. Thirdly, no one in the entire world had a more perfect life.

Then...

...In a split second...

...All those thoughts vanished when he saw the orange flames engulfing his abode.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Every child does the same thing.

It happens when their mother calls their name and they know, just hours before, they did something wrong.

It happens when they're playing with a friend and they hurt them by accident.

It happens when they know they're in trouble or that they're going to be me. It's hard to describe.

It feels something like your blood running cold. But if it's really bad, it feels like your blood's not running at all. If it's worse than that, then you feel numb and what you can feel doesn't feel real. You realize that it's definitely real and you can feel your heartbeat getting faster. Going from a steady

_B-beat..B-beat..B-beat..B-beat_

To an alarming

_B-beat, B-beat, B-beat_

That's how Arthur felt as he ran out of his car and broke through the crowd that was surrounding his burning house. He stared at the firefighters taming the flames, or atleast attempting to. The first just continued to roar.

He turned and scanned the crowd, looking to see his beautiful wife in her pajamas, desperately clinging on to their daughter while her eyes rove the surface of their home. He searched frantically, but he didn't find it. He never found it.

He turned back to the house and he could already feel his throat thickening as he stepped forward. In situations like that, you don't think. So, when he started running to the house, he didn't think twice about the fact that he could burn alive. So, he kept running until he felt sudden pressure on his back, pushing him down on the ground. There was some shouting by his ear but all he could think about was his family cornered by the angry fire waiting for him. Someone pulled on his shirt, and turned him around. Arthur clenched his hands, balled into a fist and punched the guy standing over him who staggered backwards. More people came, more people screamed until he was tamed by a neighbor of his who pushed him against a tree far from the house. Arthur felt his insides shaking with anger, trying to push him away.

"I need to go in there!" Arthur screamed, his voice breaking. "My wife's in there! My baby girl-"

"There's nothing in there," his neighbor said calmly over his screaming. "There's _nothing _in there."

It wasn't until he said it the second time that it all sunk in. Arthur's vision blurred by the tears forming in his eyes. "No."

"I'm so sorry..."

Arthur shook his head, hard enough to rattle his brain out. "No! No! No! No!"

* * *

><p>Everything after that moment was a blur.<p>

He tried many times to get back into the house.

To get to his family.

The family that was presumed dead.

He didn't believe them.

Until he saw the body bags.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

_"You tell me," Arthur said in a tone that wasn't whisper, but at the same time was barely audible. "What makes this work? What makes this...important? Why do we need to continue this?"_

_The woman in front of him with that easily recognizable auburn hair that waved down to her shoulders just gazed at him with pleading eyes. Ariadne. After an eternity, she finally tore her eyes from his, looking to her side and biting her lip, a habit he had seen so many times that decoding it never took long._

_"Because," her voice was choked with tears but she managed to continue speaking through the water streaming down her exquisite eyes. "We have something to live for. We both do."_

_Arthur perpetuated his icy glare, but inside he was shivering from the very coldness he was emanating, shivering of the quivering of his heart. The pain of seeing the person he loved more than anything. _

_"Tell me what I have with you," he said loudly. "Tell me what _I _need to stay for. You can't, can you? Because it's not real."_

_"Why did you marry me then?"_

_"I've told you before...I needed a cover, something to hide under and you were just an accessible filter-"_

_"I don't buy that bullshit for a second!" She shouted, her breaths were coming out in heaves at this point. "You love me. You've loved me. And I love you. I know you, and this performance you're putting on doesn't put the veil you want to go over my eyes down for a second."_

_Arthur shrugged. "I'm sorry that you've broken your own heart. But that's how this line of business is and you know that. I tried to-"_

_"You need me just as much as I need you!"_

_This was more onerous than he had prognosticated. He had to be violent, he had to make her hate him...he had to put his hands on her. He felt his hands shaking just at the thought, but he pulled himself together, stamped toward her, clenched her shoulders, and slammed her against the wall. He glared down at her as she whimpered._

_"Would someone who needed you every try to break you?" He asked, breathing hard._

_"Not everyone," she shook her head. "But you would. You would do anything if it meant that I was safe. You love me so much that you would hurt me, make me despise you just for me to live. To be okay. But you cannot ignore the burning sensation you feel in your stomach whenever you kiss me, you can't ignore how holding me just exceeds anything you've ever felt before, but more than anything...you can't ignore how painful this is. To try and walk away from me. From what we have."_

_The lump in his throat was so thick by this point, that swallowing hurt more than getting shot in the knee._

_"Would you just tell me what it is that we have together that is so special?" He snapped. "Nothing! We do not have anything together! Why can't you just..."_

_"I'm pregnant," she whispered breathlessly._

_And once again, he forgot everything. The emotions that satiated his brain prior to her speaking shattered. And the only word he could think of was pregnant._

_"What?" He asked quietly, his voice choked_

_She just breathed out, those tears continuing to fall. "I am."_

* * *

><p>It was like being behind the wheel of his car and crashing in a head on collision with an 18 Wheeler. If that had really happened, he'd be dead and it wouldn't matter what else would happen because he wouldn't be able to feel it. That's how it was now. He couldn't feel anything.<p>

"Hanson?"

Arthur looked up from the place in the center of the stark white wall and was met with a warm, sad, sympathetic regard. The man looking at him was shart, corpulent and had cropped hair with wire rimmed glasses.

"Yes?"

The man looked down sadly before looking back up at him. "We need your...It is required that you fill out a death certificate."

Arthur closed his eyes, his heart stinging at the man's words. "You couldn't save her," he whispered.

"Pardon?"

"You couldn't save her?" Arthur repeated, his voice earnest. "There wasn't anything you could do to save her?"

The man's face was crest fallen suddenly, his eyes deeming some sort of resentment mixed with a wave of guilt and sadness that Arthur had only seen in his own eyes.

"What?" Arthur asked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," the man said in a painful whisper. "But we...I...I couldn't save them. I'm so sorry."

"_Them_?"

It was like being pricked with needle. Only 99.9 Billion times worse.

"Your wife and your daughter...They're dead."

It was a moment before Arthur could work up the nerve to actually speak.

But in that moment, he contemplated all the things he could do to the man who lost his family. The man who didn't save them. He thought about taking his stupid, cheap tie off and stuffing it down his throat, gagging him. He thought about taking out a small balisong and cutting him off piece by piece which would be a very painful, very time consuming way to kill. He thought about simply taking out a gun and shooting him straight in the head, but that scenario didn't leave much room for suffering. But Arthur soon stopped with his visions, the more he realized that the real man who lost his family was himself.

From that point, it was like someone was speaking for him in the calmest of manners. He didn't throw any fits because he was dead from that moment. It was someone else doing the talking.

"They burned?" Arthur barely let out a whisper.

"Suprisingly, no."

"Then, how did...?"

"Asphyxiation," the man answered quietly and respectfully. "Inhaling the fumes and smoke."

Arthur didn't reply this time. The amount of pain he was feeling was undescribable. Someone taking a hammer and jacking him in his ribcage. Someone tying him up and electrocuting his toes. Being bashed in the head with a crowbar. Colliding against the cement after being tossed out of the window of his car. Someone taking a knife, lodging it deep into his side and sliding it down by his foot. Still, nothing described what he felt.

"Would you like to...view the bodies?"

* * *

><p>"We haven't really had any time to...clean the bodies, but you're free to...Just take your time. I'll let anyone know when they can come in and move them downstairs."<p>

Arthur didn't respond to that either, he walked past the short man and into a cold, white room. There were two gurneys, both inhabited, and both hidden by a white cotton sheet. Arthur felt weak at the knees upon realizing that one form was significantly smaller than the other. He walked, dragged his feet, to the gurney with the bigger form. His throat tightened as he gripped the sheet and peeled it back.

Ariadne lie there, her eyes closed, her lips purple, and skin notably paler than its natural shade. There were ashen blotches over her face-smoke. Slowly, he noticed, that the grayness was melting off with drops of water that rolled down her lifeless body. And he started crying harder when he realized the water belonged to him, his tears. His sob broke out and echoed through the empty room and he leaned over the gurny, resting his head on her chest.

"Come on," he murmured. "Let me feel your heartbeat."

His shoulders shook so violently, he thought he was having seizures. It was only when he realized he wasn't that he prayed he would.

"Give me something," he cried out. "I know you're in there. You just have to look up at me. Smile at me. Talk to me. Let me know that you're still in there."

He was quietly shouting at the corpse.

He ran his fingers through her hair and shuddered. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.

"I love you," he whispered.

As he lifted the sheet and placed it over her face gently, he whispered with a quivering voice, "I'm sorry."

He almost couldn't bring himself to go to the smaller gurney. He knew what was under there would break him. It was her first birthday. When he pulled the sheets back, he couldn't control the hysterics he went into. The tears were so excessive that he couldn't even see, his voice was howling and the amount of times his voice broke, he couldn't count.

He picked up the little girl and held her in his arms and let his tears nearly soak her dark hair.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed out. "I'm so sorry. I should have left you when I could. I shouldn't have let this happen. I'm so sorry, Natalie."

Arthur finished filling out the certicificate, the pink slips, and funeral arrangements. He handed the clipboard to the same short man who came to him in the waiting room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and began walking away.

"Wait."

Arthur turned around slowly and met eye to eye with the man.

"Do you...Do you know what happened?"

"What do you mean? There was a fire."

"Of course there was," the man stepped closer. "But do you know what caused it?"

Arthur watched him warily. "No...Why?"

"The consensus is that it was arson."


	8. Chapter 8

**Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

**A/N: I don't like leaving Author's Notes in stories that often, but I feel like I need to clarify what I meant by "That day, Cobb had been half right." Since the monkey's out of the bottle, let me just elaborate and say that by my saying Cobb had been half right, I was including everything he had said. "You are going to see your wife and your daughter awake and healthy. You're going to live a long life with them. I promise."  
>Arthur saw them awake and healthy, but he didn't get to live the long life with them that he had hoped for. Thank you for the reviews, by the way. <strong>

Arson. Proper definition follows as:

arson (n): _Law_ . the malicious burning of another's house or property, or in some statutes, the burning of one's own house or property, as to collect insurance.

If you did research pn it, there would be included articles on young gang members who sometimes do it as larks. It would also have something about the most sadistic seriel killers in the world and somewhere on that list, in the 20s, you'd find the sickos who enjoyed watching people burn alive.  
>Despite the common results and popular beliefs, Arthur knew that this fire that spurred in the middle of the night, asphxyiating his daughter and wife whle he had been at the grocery store, was in no way affiliated with pit bosses of petty crimes or insane asylum escapees, or kids trying to make their mark. This had personal written all over it. This was him. This is what he'd done. His history, as he feared, came back up and barked at him like a scared dog of no virtue.<p>

So, when the hospital redirected him to an officer who sent him to a detective who had a few questions about...well, naturally, Arthur replied with,

"It's all my fault," he whispered, his eyes glued to the ground. "If I hadn't..." He trailed off, feeling the lump in his throat expand. He swallowed hard. "This never would have happened."

The detective, one Joshua Black, looked at him with sad green eyes.

"I'm really sorry for your loss," he said apologetically. "But I need to ask these questions."

Arthur didn't say anything. He didn't have to. His only response was looking up into Joshua's eyes. That was the only assurance that either one of them needed. Joshua cleared his throat.

"Can you think of anyone you may have made enemires with? Someone who would want to do this?"

"Oh, sure, let me just dip into my bag and get you the contact information of all the psychos who I've pissed off."

"I know-"

"She wasn't even past her first birthday," Arthur had firmly placed his hands on the table, leaning forward. "What kind of person would do this? How badly could I piss _anyone _off that they'd want to kill a little girl?

Another silence passed between the two and Arthur could tell that Joshua was just counting all the ways he had messed this interrogation up, but that wasn't true. The truth was that the detective was getting too close to the truth.

"I have to ask, Mr. Hanson...Again, I'm sorry. The reason I am in this line of business is because my mother was killed and I never found out why or who...So, I've dedicated my life to finding and righting any injustices done to victims, and their familites. I know these questions hurt, trust me...and I know you just want your family back...I can't give you that, but I can kill whoever did this to them. This is worth the death penalty."

Now, his family were just more statistics in arson cases that were piling over each other in some chief of police's cramped office.

It didn't take much considering or contemplations. The moment those words left the detective's mouth, it was clear what he had to do.

"Okay," Arthur said quietly. "Okay." Then...Arthur lied more to the detective more than he did his entire career. He counted them while he did it.

"Any enemies?"

"No. I don't have any enemies." _Lie #1_

"Could you think of anyone that might do this?"

"No one comes to mind." _Lie #2_

"Did your wife have any enemies?"

Arthur shook his head slowly. "Everyone loved her...but none of them more than me." _True_

Joshua scribbled bits of information on the notepad laid out in front of him and when he finished, he paused, letting another silence befall the room. He looked anxious and as his fingernails drimmed against the table, Arthur guessed that he really was.

Finally, he looked up at Arthur with overwrought eyes. "Where were you when this happened?"

That was it.

Snap.

Arthur felt his nerves being yanked and pulled and he winced, but didn't ask just yet. Instead he closed his eyes and spoke in a murmur.

"I was at the grocery store."

He said the words very slowly because they hurt coming out.

"Sir...Sir...I need you to open your eyes."

Open eyes. Open eyes so that you could look inside them and look for honesty or deceit. He knew these tests because it was a big part of his job. Not real estate. His old job. His past. He couldn't done anything at that point. He could've screamed attorney, assault the detective for assuming such a thing, or cower and cry (what he really wanted to do) but he didn't do either of those things. Instead, he opened his eyes.

The detective eyed him worriedly and cleared his throat.

"So you say you were at the store," he jotted more notes down in that stupid leather notebook. Arthur could have pulled him by the hair and slame his head down on to the the metal table until he bled profusely.

But he nodded his head. "That's correct."

"The neighbors said that once you were round the corner, the house practically combusted into flames...It was after you were out of sight."

"This is bullshit," Arthur whispered.

Joshua leaned closer. "I'm sorry what was that?"

"This. Is. Bullshit," he said viciously. "Why would I kill the two people I love most? The only two people I love at all? You think I set a trap and left, leaving them to burn in that house?"

Joshua didn't change his stern, emotionless face but Arhur could detect the smallest smirk and twinkle in his eyes.

"I never said anything remotely close to that."

It could only be described as dead silence.

"Am I suspect?"

Joshua just stood to his feet. "You just let us know when you want to leave the state."

He walked out.

Arthur dragged his feet against the pavement and when he finally made it to hs car, he slumped in the seat. That bucket of emotions that he had covered was spilling out over the top and he felt the same pressure on his heart that he felt everytime he tried to leave. If he had endured it then, he wouldn't've felt it now. He almost couldn't breathe. He gripped on to the steering wheel very tightly and huffed heavy breaths. He almost calmed himself down, put a new lid on the bucket...when he suddenly noticed the melted ice cream seeping out onto his leather seats.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Alcohol stung.  
>It stung like a beehive in mass hysteria.<br>It stung like angry wasps .  
>It stung like a sting ray, burning to near death.<br>Sometimes it felt good to be stung, to be burnt, and wounded...But mostly it just felt like an escape. An escape from reality without going under. Ask anyone. That's why alcohol was created. When something good happens, you don't get shit faced drunk. You drink a little, but you want to be in your right mind to remember it.  
>It was pain. Pain triggers drinking. Pain is the number one reason that breweries and liquor stores are still in business despite the number of auto accidents caused by it. People with broken hearts, broken legs, and broke homes have to drink for the trouble. It didn't help, per se, but it was a good distraction long enough to forget atleast for a minute.<p>

Arthur needed the sting.

Cobb got the call around two a.m. The children were long before put to bed and sleeping soundly while he had been up. He laid out a black suit onto his bed as well as some shiny, black dress shoes deemed, appropriate attire for funerals. After he spread out the clothes, he stared at them vacuously. It wasn't until he heard shuddering in his empty room that he realized he had been crying, his tear drops falling over the suit leaving dark spots.

At this realization, he stumbled backwards into the wall and slid down to the floor. He couldn't help but think, that in some way, this was his fault. And the more he thought about his own guilt, the more he realized the guilt of Arthur was greater. Much greater in comparison.  
>Then the phone rang.<p>

Once.

Twice.

"Hello?" Cobb said firmly, his paranoia about late night calls always left his impenetrable guard up.

An acute, New York accent greeted on the other end of the line with a befuddled, "Is this, uh...Cobb?"

Cobb noted that it sounded quiet, the other end. The man was speaking in a regular tone and soft, almost undetectible music played in the background.

"Who wants to know?" Never let your guard down.

"Your friend...A, uh..." There was a pause, but Cobb picked up low voices, one incredibly slurred.

_"What's your name, son?"_

_"Er...Arthur...Arthur."_

"That's right," the man came back to the phone. "Your friend Arthur is down here at McGinty's, d'ya know where that is? It's my bar down stown, just past Wicker St. You were the first contact on his phone and he's really in no condition to be driving. He's had enough."

Cobb walked into the desolate bar expecting to see Arthur sitting on a barstool, staring down at his hands, and intoxicated with the grievous sorrow of his unforseen loss. His sadness was mistaken for drunkness, it had to be. Arthur knew his limits.

So, Cobb was both astounded and abhorred when he saw the younger man almost passed out in one of the booths. Drunk beyond recognition. His hair wasn't prim and proper, but hanging down over his eyes in an unholy mess. His hair had grown and he didn't bother fixing it up anymore. His clothes were wrinkled and one part of his shirt was ripped. He was wearing an old college shirt that wasn't his (apart of his cover) and a pair of faded jeans. He was asleep.

Taking precarious steps, Cobb neared the booth and slithered onto the seat opposite Arthur's. His posture remained rigid and uncomfortable as he stared at his friend who's young, and distraught face was illuminated by the dim overhead light. Arthur was transparent now, and Cobb could see everything in etched on his face like a permanent branding. He may have been sleeping soundly, but he was far from having sweet dreams. He was troubled in his mind too. He was hurting...and everytime he slept, he would forget and when he awoke, the events of the past couple of days would light him up like a fire and his insides would shrivel once again. It would be like this everyday for the rest of his life and it would never get better, but he'd get used to it.

That's when Arthur's eyes opened slowly. He blinked several times to get used to the light, scrunching his eyelids closed and open over again. When Cobb could see his eyes, he frowned. They darkened immediately and the look of confusion, realization, and despondency were clear in his eyes.

He pushed himself up in a sitting position and peered at Cobb through narrowed eyes, as if he were noticing him for the first time. He smiled.

"Look who it is," his voice was heavy and ragged. "What brings you here? To McGinty's? I thought you didn't drink."

"Got a call from a concerned bartender at two in the morning. That was fun. And you're wrong," Cobb's eyes perused over the table, at the empty beer bottles in the corner, the half empty drinking glass, the Russian vodka, and the unidentifiable beverage sitting in front of Arthur. "I do drink. Just not as much as you."

Arthur chuckled, leaning back into his seat and toying with his dice while Cobb picked up the barren bottle of vodka.

"Did you drink the whole thing?"

Arthur shrugged. "Someone had to."

Cobb set the bottle down. "That can't be good...Mixing Vodka and whatever you have over there-"

"It's an energy drink," Arthur lifted the glass and peered at it. "I read somewhere online that combining strong liquor and energy drinks are dangerous and I just...thought it was worth a shot."

"Recreational experiment?"

Arthur shook his head. "No...I'm just hoping...for a miracle. Maybe if I get shit faced enough, I'll lose all senses of pain."

"That's not the way to do it, Ar-"

"I don't know what the fuck else to do!"

A pregnant pause passed between the do while Arthur tried to calm himself before he could get worked up and Cobb bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered.

Cobb didn't respond.

"It's just this...thing I do when I don't know how to control myself. When I get pushed to the edge. Mind you, you had nothing to do with that...I've just been dealing with a lot. That used to piss her off...I'd get so mad, I'd just say things and I don't know if I meant them, what I said...But it's gotten so much worse..."

"Don't worry," Cobb said gently. "I know what you mean. I know what you're going through."

Arthur froze. "Pardon?"

"I know how it feels, and it's hard. And it...it's a worse feeling than anything you've ever felt combined. And I'm sorry that you have to experience this."

It was silent once again and Cobb knew he'd crossed a boundary, a line, but he wasn't sure how. He waited for Arthur's intense glowering to pass and for him to outburst once again, but instead the younger man did the unexpected.

He sighed lightly and reached into his pockets. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and bit a single one out, crushing it between his thin lips. As he went to light it, he glimpsed at Cobb with a slightly amused expression.  
>"I quit a long time ago," he said. "I just recently started again. Like yesterday."<p>

Arthur puffed, leaning his head against his hand.

"Do you know what sporks are?"

Cobb nodded slowly.

"Yeah? You do?...Little plastic utensils...the love child of a spoon and a fork and it's...completely useless. I hate those sporks. They're meant to make things easier for people, but...what's wrong with having both a spoon and a fork? There's no need for a hybrid utensil that doesn't even work. It ends up filling up the streets and gutters. It's useless..."  
>Arthur looked down and muttered,<br>"So, why did I think that I had to have the best of best worlds? Dream sharing, it's sufficient...and it's nice, and it's exciting. I could have just stayed in that field and done nothing about that stupid infatuation I had. But...she wasn't going to do anything. I know, because she thought I was aloof and devoid of human emotion. I had to convince her that I wasn't completely made out of stone...No, no, I didn't have to, but I _had_ to...Now, I wish she was right. I wish I was a heartless, emotionless shadow of a man, completely devoid of human emotion. Right now, I wish I couldn't feel a goddamn thing."

Arthur paused.

"I couldn't be both a Point and a family man. I had to lose one or the other, but I was too weak to give it up and that's why they're dead."

Cobb's face twisted up into confusion. Arthur took notice.

"Shocker, huh?" Arthur spat. "Your tenacious, focused, on the job Point Man couldn't give up the goddamn dreams to be with his family. That real estate thing was real, but still...90% of my income came from culpable jobs. The ones you gave up. Secret's out, right? I have a right to feel guilty and to feel this cut up because what happened to them in that house is all on me. Not in a reserved way, but directly. It was all me."

Dead silence once again for about five minutes until Arthur's voice broke the barrier once again, but due to his heightened state of inebriation, Cobb hadn't understood a single word.

"What?" He asked quietly.

Arthur looked up at him, his eyes brimmed with red, half lidded, and his skin especially pale.

"I said..." Arthur stopped and laughed shortly. The action stung Cobb's heart because he knew that laugh and it wasn't one of humor, it was a laugh to keep from crying. "She was pregnant, Cobb."

Cobb's heart dropped and Arthur gazed at his drink, his smile almost gone.

"Six weeks," he continued. "We didn't tell anyone just yet because we knew how it would sound. It was too soon, we knew that but we were gonna work through it. Because...I think...it made us happy to have a bigger family."

Arthur stopped, a blank memorization in his eyes, dull and blurry. He blinked and looked up at his friend. For a moment, he just stared. It was like he was seeing something deep inside, buried beneath, and he wanted it. He cleared his throat.

"You try to empathize with this, with this situation," he continued, not tearing his gaze from Cobb's. "But you do not know how this feels. For years, I looked at you with such admiration because you seemed so strong after losing Mal. Not just your wife, but your partner and your best friend...your lover. And when I met Ariadne, I just thought, 'Wow! I could never be that strong.' And as much as I admire your strength, let me politely tell you that you have no idea how this feels. Phillipa and James...two beautiful kids," Arthur laughed the same laugh to hinder tears. "You're lucky. You didn't lose your entire family. You're fucking lucky, you know that? My wife, my daughter, and unborn child...all dead. They are never coming back, Cobb. I will never see them again. I will never get to touch them, hold them, kiss them, smell them..."

Arthur's eyes watered and just as one tear glided down his face, he slammed his hands against the table and grunted. He pulled out a flask, but Cobb reached out and pulled it away before he could take a sip.

"Is this your plan? You're going to drink? Turn to alcoholism?"

Arthur smirked and gently pried Cobb fingers from around the drink and lifted it back to his mouth to revel in the cool burn.

"No," he answered Cobb after he sat the flask down. "That's not my plan. No amount of alcohol could blunder my memory enough. Unless, it's so strong that it kills me. Here, let me show you something."

Arthur pulled out a couple of manila envelopes. He opened them and dumps them, numerous photographs. He smiled something angry and looked at Cobb.

"I found these pictures in my car...They weren't in there until two nights ago."

Arthur pushed a single image in front of Cobb without saying anything. Cobb pressed down on it and picked it up.

It was polished one of Ariadne and Natalie. Natalie was sitting on Ariadne's lap smiling for the camera and Ariadne had her head tilted to the side, her chin sitting on Natalie's shoulder. It was a sunny day, and behind them was a large oak tree. They were happy.

"That's my favorite," Arthur whispered. "These were in the house before I left that night. Now, they're in my car. The cops think I did it...and that gets them an inch into their search because at least they're doing something...but it gets me nowhere. So, what do I do? Drink myself to death? Suicide is a viable option, but I want to slay the people who had anything to do with this first. Not just kill...I want them to suffer. I want them to get on their knees and beg me for death. So, in a few days, Arthur Hanson is going to die and Arthur Miller...is going to be resurrected."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

**A/N: Lots of chapters to update. Sorry for the delay, but something very bad happened. I won't go into detail because I don't want to down anyone, but everything's okay now. Warning: This chapter is not all that great, but enjoy.**

"The Bible says, 'Blessed are they who mourn for they shall be comforted,' and today, we mourn the loss of and commemorate the life of not one, but two immaculate beings. The souls of Ariadne and Natalie Hanson. And, though, it seems their lives were taken much too soon, we must be grateful to God for allowing us to know such beautiful people... Natalie was a young, affectionate little girl whose life left as quickly as it had come. She will be sorely missed. Her mother, Ariadne, was the most dexterous and superb person who would give her life to save those close to her..."

He droned on and Arthur fell in and out.

"And though we mourn today, in the end we shall be comforted..."

The morning was gloomy, not just because of the grey skies and the cool drizzling raindrops, but because of the most obvious factors.  
>Two mahogany coffins that were set up side by side, both of them harboring a great deal of flowers and carnations. Both of them sporting separate photographs. Both of two brunettes. Both of them were soon to be buried.<br>Everyone wore black. Of course, those were the traditional aspects of a funeral. The things that were supposed to be going on.  
>The different things were the things that made this day particularly rigid.<br>Arthur.  
>The mourning husband and father. The one who lossed everything was sitting quietly in front, the closest to the casket, his eyes were glued to both coffins and there was no hint of pain anywhere on his face. No amusement, happiness, sorrow, anger, or resentment. Just nothing. A person completely devoid of human emotion.<br>Cobb.  
>The family friend who'd been there through it all. Two kids on opposite sides of him. Quivering mouth as he held back tears. That was emotion.<p>

Arthur lifted his eyes to peer at a small coterie sitting opposite him. A woman with short and straight dirty blonde hair sat right across from him and she wept quietly, pressing a balled up tissue against her eyes. She stared at the picture of her daughter, of Ariadne, and with every glance she took, her shoulders shook more violently than the last. Next to her was a striaght laced man with grey hair that was swept to the side, he had thick framed glasses and a dark blue suit on. He did his best to not cry, to be strong for his wife, but it wasn't hard to tell that he was ready to burst. Most of the guests assumed it was because he didn't own anything black, but Arthur knew it was because the man, Ariadne's father, didn't believe Ariadne would want to be remembered with sad thoughts. In fact, Arthur was sure of this. Sure of it because she'd told him once before. On a rainy night when all they had was each other and Frederic Chopin playing on a dusty record.

_Her head was reclined against his chest and her back was against his stomach, and she sat in between his legs, drawing lines on his fingers. He didn't mind it. He simply let his own head rest against the armchair, using his free hand to run through her hair. When she suddenly stopped, he opened his eyes and watched her reposition herself until she was facing him. He could tell that she was fixed to say something but instead of saying it, she smiled at him. She stroked his cheek. After a few seconds, she spoke_

_"What do you think happens when we die?"_

The eulogy was over and Arthur hadn't bothered to perk up his ears to listen out for the rest. Eulogies didn't mean anything, they never meant anything because the person communicating it never was closely affiliated with the one who died. So when he says that he understands the mourning, he doesn't understand shit. The man probably had a nice wife and a matching sort of children to go along with it. Hell, maybe he had a house that wasn't burnt to ashes. Who knew?  
>At this point, Arthur was completely phlegmatic; he hadn't cried since his "recreational experiment".<br>His heart continued to pump the blood keeping him alive with no valid reason, keeping him alive when he had nothing to live for.  
>He stood up<p>

_"Why do you ask?" He watched her through narrowed eyes._  
><em>She hesitated, then shrugged, then spoke again. "Death just always interested me. Isn't it fascinating?"<em>

Arthur dragged his feet against the cool, wet grass, his head hanging down as he walked gloomily. Thunder boomed and the sky was morphing into a much darker and ominous shade. As the rain fell down more intensely, Arthur stopped in his tracks, standing in front of the only two people who could almost be hurting as much as he was: her parents.  
>After a prolonged debate with himself, he lifted his head and looked at the pair, looking into their eyes and trying to be a strong as he could manage. Eileen, Ariadne's mother, looked at him pitifully, her lips pursed and quivering as she cried, her tears hidden under the cloak of rain. Victor, Ariadne's father, had eyes more red than Arthur had ever seen before. He couldn't bear to look at them anymore so he looked down again.<br>"I'm sorry," Arthur had to speak loudly; the rain was pounding by now. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there, and that I couldn't save them...and I let them die, I'm sorry."  
>Arthur paused. "I know this apology means nothing," he continued. "No matter how many times I say it, I can't bring them back...but I don't know what else to say."<br>Victor watched Arthur with empathetic eyes and Eileen placed her hand on his shoulder hesitantly.  
>"Don't," she choked out. "It's not your fault. You had no idea that this was going to happen."<p>

_"Death," Arthur contemplated his words carefully. "Is interesting, yes...I think it's fascinating..."_  
><em>"What would you do if I died-"<em>  
><em>"I'm not having this conversation with you," he whispered, his voice already laced with emotion. "Just stop."<em>  
><em>She didn't look hurt, his words didn't hurt because she knew why he said it. "Why not? You said it yourself; it's interesting."<em>  
><em>"Not with you. I can play pretend with whomever you want me to, but not you. I could talk about any 'what-if' scenario you want me to, but none of them about you."<em>  
><em>She smiled again, but this smile was more serene, more soft. "We all have to go sometime, and talking about it won't make it happen any sooner or any later. When I'm gone, if I go before you, will you miss me?"<em>  
><em>"That's the dumbest question you've ever asked me, and I say that with love. What do you think?"<em>  
><em>Her smile brightened. "What will you miss the most?"<em>

Arthur felt that all too familar lump brewing deep in his throat, and the fire stirring in the depths of his gut. He looked up and looked hard into Eileen's eyes.  
>"It was my fault," he said. "I'm...I made a promise to her when I asked her to marry me. I promised her that I would take care of her always and forever. I promised her that I'd always be there, and more importantly, I promised her that she was safe with me, with my love. And Natalie...as her father, I'm supposed to protect her and she's dead. How's that for protection?"<br>"You can't blame yourself for this," Victor whispered. "We've all lost here today and it hurts, but we do not blame you for one minute. You're hurting more than anyone right now."

_"Too many good things to choose from," Arthur said evenly, rolling over her features once more. "I'll just miss you."_  
><em>Ariadne nodded once. "Good answer."<em>  
><em>She outstretched her arms and pulled him in, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. He kissed back, encircling his arms around her waist. As they leaned back into the couch, she hummed and pulled back.<em>  
><em>"If you do die before me," she said breathlessly. "Don't wear black to my funeral."<em>

"She loved you," Victor said. "They loved you so much. They wouldn't blame you and they definitely wouldn't want you blaming yourself."  
>Arthur forced a humorless chuckle and shrugged. "They wouldn't want it, but it's true."<p>

Arthur watched as the gravedigger shoveled the last bits of dirt on the ground and patted it down smoothly with the back of the metal hand. The remaining guests of the funeral had left after the eulogy was finished. Victor and Eileen departed him with useless, words of something resembling comfort and Cobb, after several useless attempts to convince him that revenge was not the way, left with Phillipa and James not far behind. Everyone had gone, but Arthur couldn't make himself leave. It was harder than he'd imagined. He found himself slumping under a tree watching his family being buried and forgotten, along with the other million dead people filling up the grounds. He never understood death until now. Once your heart stopped beating, you didn't matter anymore. People would move on from Natalie and Ariadne, and they wouldn't matter.  
>He managed to pull himself to his feet and staggered all the way back to his car. When he finally freed himself from the rain, slipping into a dry area, he cried again. His shoulders shaking vigorously and his breath coming out in shudders.<p>

Later, when it was time for him to get out of the car and drag himself into the hotel he was staying at, he noticed the manila envelope on the floorboard of the passenger side. He reached over to pick it up without thinking. He didn't open it, but he could feel the texture of a disk beneath the thin, orange sheet and the words 'Watch Me!' scrawled out in permanent marker told him it was a video.  
>He didn't watch it.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

_Her hand was cleanched tightly over a wet cloth as she dabbed it against a pair of khakis. Her hair was hanging over her eyes, leaving no room for an answer to her current mood. Her lip was between her teeth, clasped tightly and turning white. _

_"It's all sour now," she muttered before heaving an exasperated sigh and tossing the cloth and the khakis to the side of the room. _

_It was only when she let go of the articles that he noticed how much her hand was shaking. She lifted one quivering hand to her mouth and tapped her fingers against her tightly pursed lips. After a long hour of silence, she finally looked at him and for the first time, she saw him sitting there. She smiled sadly at him and looked down at the floor, her eyes wandering to the suitcases by the door. She stood up slowly and wiped her hands against her pant leg. She slid off the bed and walked toward the door, lifting a duffel bag and tossing it over her shoulder. She continued to gather her things when in a very focused, unemotional manner._

_"You can't do this to me," he whispered, his voice breaking the prolonged, dead silence._

_She straightened her back and lifted her head, turning around _very _slowly. Her hair was a beautiful mess, put in up in a scattered bun, strands of her hair falling down in different directions. She looked him dead in the eyes._

_"And you can?" Her voice was strong as ever. "You can choose to walk out on me whenever you get scared, whenever you want. Then you can choose to come back whenever you want, and sometimes that's not always right away."_

_Her voice was breaking now and her tears were beginning to come to term. "The longest I've waited for you is a year and two months. I shouldn't have to _wait_ that long. If it had to be that long, we should have been over. If it had been me..."_

"_I'm prepared to _stay _here," he said in a low voice, watching her with burning eyes. "You see any of my stuff packed up? Am I the one walking out right now?"_

_"That's the thing, Arthur," she leaned closer. "You never let me know you're going to leave. You never show any signs of discontent. Sometimes I just think everything is fine then suddenly you pull the plug and I'm left bewildered and angry and alone-"_

_"I didn't ask you for a committed relationship."_

_"And I didn't ask to fall in love with a selfish asshole!" She retorted. "But here I am. Desperately in love with someone who's too indecisive to know what he wants. Well, I'm not clinging anymore. Not to someone who wouldn't do the same for me."_

_"I would do that and more for you," he said sharply. "You're my life now and I don't plan on going back to what I was anytime soon."_

_"Anytime soon," she said quietly. "Anytime _soon? _What about never? How about not going back or leaving me at all? Or is that too big of a decision for you to make?"_

_He stood from the bed now, taking very slow steps toward her as if she were a sensor bomb. "I made my decision. I've made all of my decisions from the moment _I _went to find _you."

_"Then why go back on it?" She cried out._

_"Because I don't trust myself to give you the safety you need!" He raised his voice at her, sadly this wasn't the first time that this happened. "I don't trust my desires or my weaknesses because they will all put you in danger. The proof is you. You're my weakness, you're my desire 'til the day I die and look where it got me. I've put a fortune out on us, for us and I've been keeping you in different places, under different names because I can't stand the thought of someone finding out about you. Don't you understand that my weakness can be used against me? You can be used against me and I can't have that. So, I leave you...but I love you too much to stay gone forever."_

_"Then let go of it," she whispered. "Or let go of me. Make up your mind."_

_He lowered his head and his eyes, something he did when even looking at her frustrated him. Not just sexually._

_"I choose you," he whispered back._

* * *

><p>Joshua Black was feeble-minded, Arthur was convinced. He may have been a detective of the LAPD and he may have graduated top of his college class, but compared to what Arthur was capable of, Black was pie pan grease. He didn't have the authority, the audacity, the depth of constitution to do what needed to be done in this situation and he wasn't as observant as Arthur himself.<p>

There was a lot that Black could do about what would happen over the course of the next few days. He had to upper hand and he could authorize searches and countless autopsies, but he wouldn't dare get down to the bottom of it and try to stop him. Even if he did try, there wasn't much room for a successful venture.

Arthur was set.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching from a safe point as a single man stepped carefully through the charred house. It took all he had not to let his emotions get the better of him as he walked stealthy toward the ruins of a once beautiful home. He was inside and the man hadn't even noticed him yet.

"I could be anyone," Arthur said suddenly, taking the man from whatever was keeping his attention so well.

The man was young and neurotic like Woody Allen, without the humor.

"First day on the job?" Arthur asked in the most casual, polite way he could manage.

The young man smiled sheepishly. "That obvious, I guess. It's my first day out on the field, but I've been in the lab for atleast seven months now." He looked back down at the charred substances.

"Forensic Scientist," Arthur said, his voice pitched to impression as he took a single step closer. "What's your name?"

"Alan," the young man answered. "Alan Gerzersky."

"Alan," Arthur slowly took off the dark sunglasses he was wearing. "What are you doing here?"

Alan looked away, then looked back shaking his head. "I'm not sure I should be talking about this. It's a pri-"

"Private investigation, I know. So, you're investigating the premises for any signs of the culprit that started this fire...Do you have a theory as of yet?"

"I don't..."

"It's a yes or no question," Arthur lifted a cigarette to his mouth and hesitated before lighting it, as if it would start the fire once again. "Do you have a theory about what happened?"

"Yes."

Arthur waited, his eyebrows rising. "Well...?"

"Well what?"

"Let's hear it. This theory of yours."

"Sir, I don't-"

"Listen to me," Arthur kneeled down, setting himself eye to eye with Alan, "I _need _to know what happened here...I need to know what happened to my family. And I know you have that information, so please tell me. I don't know anyone else who knows."

Alan looked down at the realization, his eyes sad. "I'm not sure you'd want to know..."

"I don't. _I need _to , I don't how I'll ever...live with myself," Arthur swallowed hard. "So, tell me. _Please._"

Alan pursed his lips, looked at Arthur with hard eyes then suddenly stood to his feet. "Come with me."

* * *

><p>"The source of the fire is still unknown at this point," Alan was peering up at the sky, his wire rimmed glasses glaring from the sun. "But a lot of what happened is coming together quite sufficiently, the evidence adds up with...the theory I've come up with."<p>

"Stop hesitating, you're making this harder than it has to be," Arthur called from behind.

"The fire alarm was disarmed," Alan started warily. "That would be why the neighbors didn't detect anything in time to warn your wife. We found it, the alarm, broken to pieces and burned almost beyond recognition. So, it wasn't the fire alarm that woke her...it was the smoke. It's concluded that she was probably asleep about fifteen minutes before she asphyxiated, that would explain why she didn't get out sooner."

Arthur closed his eyes, and he could see her. Lying in bed peacefully, waiting for him then nodding off to sleep. The smoke would float through the ventilation system and would hover over her and she would wake by the strong sensation. She would cough and cough and get out of bed, running to Natalie's room.

"The fire, whatever caused it, started from the back door, dragging into the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs. When she ran out to your daughter's bedroom, the hallway was already in flames. She had to inch across to get there, but she hit it slightly which left a small burn on her left arm."

Arthur remembered the small, red injury on her pale, lifeless arm and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"She ran and got your daughter. Here, she was faced with a dilemma. She couldn't leave through the hallway, she'd burn for sure. And she couldn't stay in the room. So, she picked up something heavy, not sure what, and she broke the window. She would have been able to climb out, but there was the element of burning again. Your daughter's bedroom is right above the backdoor, where the fire started, and the flames were already eating everything in sight. So, she was cornered. There was nothing she could do, no way she could get out..."

Alan trailed off, glancing at Arthur before turning back to the damages laid out in front of him. A moment of silence passed between the two.

"Any leads?" Arthur found his voice.

"Not yet, no."

Arthur nodded and flicked his cigarette to the side. "You got a card?"

Alan wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled a pristine, egg shell colored card that had his name branded on it in dark blue letters. "Why do you..."

Arthur snatched it out of his hand. "I'll call you when I need more information."

"I didn't..."

"And if I find that you're holding anything back, I'll tell all about you, do you understand?"

"What do you mean?"

Arthur leaned forward. "My friend, you've just shared top secret information with the number one suspect in this case." He smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

**A/N: I have to ask if any of you guys want anymore flashbacks of Natalie and Ariadne seeing as we didn't really get to know them too well. Yay or nay?**

"So? What, you're telling me it's true?" The younger man asked, his eyes widening and bewilderment clear in his expression.

Joshua Black peered down at him, narrowing his eyes as he pulled on a new pair of elastic gloves. "Do you have a point to pesturing me, Alan? 'Cause I assure you, I am not in the mood."

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but the awe and fear infiltrating his mind obstructed any coherent, verbal response. Joshua began to elaborate.

"I've three bodies in the morgue just from a shoot out last night and I don't have answers. People are lookin' to gangwar, but this is something much more malign than just a few angry gangsters," he started walking around the lab, toward the freezer, and Alan quickly followed suit. "Plus, this arson case is really perplexing me."

That awakened Alan's senses and his eyes, vacuous and distracted, were ignited once again with the deliberate flame of worry. "Puzzling? What's puzzling about it?"

"The fact that we have no leads on the culprit," Joshua raised his eyebrows and enunciated '_no leads' _while putting Alan right under his microscope of scorching observation.

"I'm sorry," Alan said very quickly and nervously while Joshua opened up the freezer and removed a chemical that might as well have been under biohazard code. "But there's variable that's I'm not seeing. There has to be. I've tried ruling out pneumonia as well as-"

"But it's not just the lack of affirmation we have," Joshua set the chemical down gently on the lab table and gazed up in deep thought. "It's the husband. His lack of emotion at the funeral was really quite...alarming. I don't think I've ever seen a man that calm after losing a wife and kid. . .Remember the Rayfie case about two years back?"

Alan nodded, watching Joshua warily.

"...That man couldn't contain himself at the funeral. He almost assaulted the pastor, and you could see the rage and sadness fill up his irises...but this guy...empty, nothing there..."

Joshua trailed off and his own eyes lowered back down to Alan's. "Anyhow, why are you interested in Arthur Hanson?"

Alan shook his head, looking away, a thought brewing in his mind of which caused immense trepidation. "Just...thought I should know the suspects."

Arthur lied down on the hard, and intagibly slovenly hotel bed. He stared up at the ceiling with his right hand resting on his chest and his left hand gripping onto the neck of a slender beer bottle - his tenth slender beer bottle.

Over the course of a few hours into the day, after waking up after passing out, he felt grief dissipate slowly into self hatred, and then the self hatred wandered into self blame, which eventually turned into anger and desparation. He wanted to savagely murder the people who had the tiniest involvement in what happened in that house when he went away. But there was a problem.

He didn't have any leads.

His achingly accurate depiction of angst for Mr. Alan Gezersky danced on a really fine line over the brink of reality. The only difference between his performance and the actuality was that he had no intentions of letting anyone get away with this. He had no intentions of moving on, or 'getting better' because he might as well have been asking himself to move the Mountain Everest with his bare hands.

Gezersky was an easy card to play. There was no way he was going to meal it to the feds who would, without a doubt, chomp it while smiling. No, Gezersky was much too smart and he knew that he couldn't squeal without handing out his own head on a platter. So, Arthur was safe for his plan which involved an insurmountable amount of patience...He couldn't make a move until the feds got theirs. All he needed was a little a little tip off-the tiniest little tip off could send him of for miles and days at a time. Once they conjured up evidence, he could leave and part two would come into action.

Until then, he didn't trust himself to go out. He ran the risk of letting his anger get out of hand and some poor, scumbag would pay the price.

Patience was painful.

His eyes fluttered closed and the bottle slipped out of his hand, falling onto the carpeted floor with a soft thud. For the first time in a long time, there were images playing out behind his closed eyes.

She's dead, she's dead, and he can't get to them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

_"I used to dream of perfection," he said while looking up at the ceiling. She lied next to him on the heaping mess of a bed. "And I thought everything I did, every choice I made, every single aspect had to be perfect. I had to be perfect."_

_He shook his head, snorting out a laugh. "And, what, you believe in the notion that you don't have to be perfect, that nothing's perfect, that it does not exist. That's not how I...grew up."_

_She watched him, her brown eyes like binoculars scoping out his emotions. "How did you grow up?"_

_"Military father," he said with a shrug and that was the only explanation she needed. "Everything had to be, for lack of a better word, perfect. My dad was an awful man..."_

_She propped herself up on her elbow and used her other arm to reach out and caress his hair. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she whispered. _

_"I know," he replied. "But I don't want to keep anything from you."_

_He turned his head and looked at her before briefly stroking his thumb across her bottom lip. "I love you. And you're the first person I've ever loved like this...I can't remember feeling it before and I don't want to ruin it because I'm...I'm who I am."_

_She smiled softly, her eyes fluttering close for brief section. Arthur took that moment to observe her without shame. To rove his eyes over her porcelain skin that was warm and slightly damp. Her long, auburn hair that was knotty and messy, but still looked perfect. Her elfin nose that he wanted to peck a kiss upon. _

_She opened her eyes. "Are you afraid that I might not love you anymore?"_

_"Yes." The question didn't take him by surprise. It had been on her mind for a while now. He could tell._

_She looked down for another moment then she lifted herself up and threw her legs over his stomach, straddling his waist. She leaned down, cupped his face, and kissed him so desirously considering their recent activity. His mind left the topic of discussion, his childhood and his best effort to avoid it...and it entered a realm where she was all that mattered again._

_When she pulled away, she pulled away softly and slowly, letting her lips linger on his. _

_She smiled again. "You can't get rid of me that easy," she whispered. "Sadly, I love you even more than you love me. That must suck for you."_

_"Ariadne," he smiled for the first time that night. "You're the one who's stuck with me. And you're not as smart as I thought you were if you think you can surpass how much I love you."_

_She leaned closer, their noses were touching now. "I love how easily we can transform our conversations to lines from terrible romantic movies."_

_"I'm a man of great poetry when I'm around you."_

_She laughed louder. It echoed in his head._

_Her head thrown back, a wide smile painted on her face, and her throat vibrating a beautiful, melodic sound._

* * *

><p><em>"Then let go of it," she whispered. "Or let go of me. Make up your mind."<em>

_He lowered his head and his eyes, something he did when even looking at her frustrated him. Not just sexually._

_"I choose you," he whispered back._

_Her lips quivered and she bit down to control its shaking. She looked away, up at the ceiling, allowing her tears to slither back into the hole it spurred from. "Prove it."_

_"You want me to show you?"_

_She nodded slowly, facing him now. "Proof. That you are choosing me right now."_

_He watched her with hard, discerning eyes before brushing past her to the closet._

_She waited for him, tapping her foot when he returned._

_He placed a blue velvet box in her hands and waved at it. "There. That's yours. That's my proof."_

_"Arthur," she breathed out lightly. "You don't-"_

_"I've had that for three months," he retorted before she could make her comment. "I mean it. I'm serious. It's been burning a fucking hole in my pocket and every night I've been looking at you, trying to just push myself to ask you. It hasn't been so eventful, and I'm sorry you didn't get the great, gingerbread proposal I was fishing for. But you need to know."_

_Her hands were shaking this time as she tried not to let the box fall, as her quivering hands pulled back the top. A diamond ring sparkled under the room light and her heart almost stopped beating in its entirety. "Arthur..."_

_That was all she managed to choke out._

_"That's not answer," he felt himself getting nervous._

_She mumbled something indistinct and Arthur's ears perked up, despite having not heard._

_"What was that?"_

_"I said yes," she repeated louder, looking him in the eyes. Her answer was what he wanted to hear, but her expression was sad and disbelieving like he'd just hit her._

_"What's wrong?" _

_The tears fell over once again and her throat ripped out a sob. "I'm trying so hard not to love you. But I can't..."_

* * *

><p>It had been a week.<p>

A long, long, burning week.

And Arthur didn't wait for them anymore. He never did. He would beat out his own answers.

And he knew just where to go first.

He swiped his car keys off the bedside table and ran out of the motel room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

The engine of the car stuttered to an abrupt stop and Arthur extracted his fingers away from the ignition, without retrieving the keys. He stared blankly through the window shield, at the perfect surburbian street laid out in front of him. As he continued to gaze, in a thoughtless stare, he saw a figure. A short, petite girl with dark brown hair. She wore a small light blue dress and her hair was tied in a ribbon.

"Nat," he whispered, breathless.

He immediately opened the door and practically fell out of the car in the process. As he crawled speedily to the figure, he raised his eyes and his heart skipped a beat. There was no one there.

He blinked.

Very slowly, and weakly, he fixed himself into a sitting position on the sidewalk. He held his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, a feeble attempt at trying to rid the pain growing in his heart. It was a combination of heart burn and the sensation of having someone beat in his ribs with a cleaver. His breathing slowed and he recomposed himself, running his hands through his tangled hair. It hadn't been cut in God knew how long.

He stood to his feet and carefully adjusted the wrinkled hoodie he'd thrown on. He walked up the pavement, turning to his right to the bright yellow house - a tacky addition to the neighborhood - and began walking up the drive. He did his best not to turn his head toward the space next to the yellow house. The black, ash remains.

He cleared his throat, rubbed his hair back, and knocked on the front door three times in a gentle rhythm.

After some agonizing seconds, the front door opened and Arthur was met with a confused expression that quicly contorted into sympathy.

The person quickly waved Arthur in with no hesitance, gently shutting the door behind them.

* * *

><p>A steaming cup of tea was sat down on the dining table directly in front of him.<p>

Arthur's old neighbor, Ron Stampler, was a good-hearted man with a growing family of his own. His eldest daughter was twenty-six and engaged to Princeton graduate and his youngest son was expected in a couple of months. Of course, Arthur wouldn't be around to see that, let alone congratulate them. Ron's wife was a writer and often worked at home, hence the family bond being as strong as it was. Her name was Irene.

Ron and Irene.

The lovely, homely couple next door.

"I honestly don't know what to say to you," Ron broke the silence in a low voice. It was late; everyone else was asleep. "I feel like asking how you are, but I know the answer to that. All I can say is that I'm sorry. I am truly sorry, Arthur."

Arthur, after prolonged minutes of sitting with a stern expression, leaned forward and drank the burning tea which settled his naseua because of the liquor. He set it down carefully and leaned back again.

"I would accept your apology, Ron, but you didn't do this," Arthur spoke carefully. "If you did, you'd be dead already."

Arthur formed a pistol with his hand and flicked it upward, in a shooting motion, directed at Ron's head.

"I'm here," Arthur started, "because I really want to know what you saw. What you think happened. Because...I just need it."

"For some reason, I sensed you weren't over for a friendly chat."

"A chat between neighbors. Neighbors who are stark opposites. One with a house and a big family, and one who has nothing. Would you like to guess which one I am?"

Ron looked down into his mug. "I saw shadows."

"Silhoettes?"

"Four of them."

Arthur's breathing became unsteady. "Four?" His voice cracked. "Men?"

"I believe so," Ron hummed. "But I heard a voice. Thick French accent, voice light as a feather. A woman."

Arthur's eyebrows rose.

* * *

><p><em>Ariadne leaned forward and whispered against his thraot, "Don't go to Paris."<em>

_She backed away and looked up at him with pleading eyes. _

_"Please."_

* * *

><p>"I can figure this out," Alan said quietly, yet firmly whilst leaning over the crime scene photos. "You just have to give more time and shut the hell up."<p>

The woman standing over him grumbled. "Well, how long will it take? Would you like a day off? Maybe cash in the retirement revenue that you do not possess."

"Would you fuck off please?" Alan says this very politely and quickly, ending with the most innocent smile.

"It's your head," the woman walks away, leaving the laboratory.

Alan scoffed, shaking his head.

He pushed the photographs away and rested his head on the table. He just wanted to be alone.

And at this perfect moment, his mind lulling and his eyes fluttering closed, he heard the vibrations of his phone against the counter top loudly.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Alan silently repined at his realization that the heater was not working in his car. Lately, in his region, the temperature receeded to a nearly nonexistant degree of fifty or below. He made a habit of staying inside until this vagary of weather surpassed, so he felt utterly frustrated when just half an hour ago, he got a call telling him to go to a diner on the boulevard.

_Alan picked up the phone, apprehensive and scared as to who it might be. He flipped the cellphone opened, pressed it to his ear, opened his mouth to speak, and hesitated for three seconds before uttering a choked, "Hello?"_

_"I need you to meet me at The Diner," the voice on the other end spoke firmly with an undeniably assertive tone._

_"Who is this?" Alan lifted his glasses up and rested them over his head before rubbing his eyes._

_"No questions."_

_Alan honestly had no idea who could be on the phone. He looked up, furrowing his eyebrows and straining his brain. "Who the hell _are _you and what do you want?"_

_"I said, no fucking questions, Alan."_

_Alan's blood ran cold; he knew who this was._

_"You either cooperate or be disbarred, it's solely up to you," Arthur threatened quietly. "But I've had enough. You've been holding out on me and I want answers now."_

Alan sighed and leaned closer into his seat, frantically rubbing his hands together. This was going to be a long wait.

* * *

><p><em>Ariadne leaned forward and whispered against his throat, "Don't go to Paris."<em>

_She backed away and looked up at him with pleading eyes._

_"Please."_

* * *

><p>It was now.<p>

Now when he was nodding off after having waited for an hour and a half.

Now when he was reaching that moment of perfect slumber that he was jolted awake by rapping on the car window.

He opened his eyes, quickly sitting up. He was met with Arthur's cold glare.

A few seconds passed before either one of them said a word, they simply stared at each other. Alan, out of fear and Arthur, out of detest.

"Get out," was all Arthur said before walking into the diner already lighting a cigarette.

* * *

><p>Alan walked inside hesitantly, send a nod of acknowledgement to the waitress behind the counter who reciprocated with a friendly smile. He continued to walk to the very back of the diner, a dimly lit section where he noticed Arthur was already sitting with a cup of coffee, skimming over the menu.<p>

Alan settled into the torn, faux leather seat, but remained stringent, achingly cognizant of just how little space there was between him and the ticking time bomb.

"A word of advice, Alan," he began composedly, "Never eat at a restaurant that has pictures of the food on the menu."

"I'll take heed to that, thank you."

Arthur carefully sat the menu down and crossed his arms over the table, not saying anything. It would be an understatement to say that Alan was confused by the notion.

Just then, the same waitress came up to the table with a friendly, but tired smile carrying a worn notepad. "What'll it be, boys?"

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur spoke for him.

"He will have one coffee, no cream, an omlette with extra cheese and red peppers, waffles, and I suppose some hash browns wouldn't hurt."

The young woman wrote down everything with flourish and looked back up at Arthur. "Okay, and for you?"

"Another coffee that's all, thank you." He looked up at Alan. "He'll also have a Boston Cream Pie."

The waitress nodded, took up the menus and walked back into the kitchen. Arthur stared at Alan.

"You do like Boston Cream Pie, right?"

Alan swallowed hard. "On some occasions."

"Good," Arthur nodded once, his eyes lowering. "That's good."

"Why'd you call me here, Arthur?" Alan leaned forward, tired of playing coy. "I haven't kept anything out. I haven't found anything to keep it out."

"Traces of nitroglycerin," Arthur muttered. "I didn't hear anything about this possibly being a homemade bomb and how long would that take for you to find out?"

Alan felt his stomach drop. "How'd you find that out? I haven't even..."

"They're called interrogations, Alan, and if you were a real forensic scientist, you'd probably know more about them." As an afterthought, Arthur added. "I'm not waiting for you guys."

"Waiting for what?"

"It's been something like two weeks; it's taking way too long." Arthur ignored Alan's attempt to understand.

The waitress came up and set down two cups of coffee and two separate plates of hash browns and an omlette. "I'll be back in a moment with your waffles."

Alan cleared his throat, staring at the food that was set in front of him.

"Don't tell me, you're allergic to the decency I have for corresponding pusher."

Arthur sighed, and Alan reluctantly began forking at his runny omlette.

More silence passed and Alan wanted to take the fork so tight in his hand and jam it into Arthur's shoulder. The calmness of his person was more frightening than any kind of screaming Alan had experienced. He was afraid of what could happen. There was no telling with someone like Arthur.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Alan splashed cool water over his perspirated face and wiped it dry with a few paper towels. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath.

"Don't let him get to you," he whispered to himself. "Don't let him beat it out of you. Go out there and deal with him...Right. And how do I do that?"

Before he could relish in the cheap, poorly made meal, Alan had excused himself to the bathroom. Arthur had a keen eye for discomfort and knew how to make those around him writhe with both fear and intoxication of power. It made the almost possibility of fabricating his own web of lies preposterous, as Arthur would immediately catch on. And if Alan was afraid of what Arthur would do by him holding out information, he couldn't imagine his nerves if he'd actually lied to him.

He stepped out of the bathroom slowly, one toe at a time, making sure that his anxiety was quiescent in comparison to his bravery. That his knotted and clenched stomach had unwound itself from the crevices of his revulsion. That he could find the man, the player, the pantologist within himself and play dice just as well. All of those thoughts quickly degenerated back into non-existence when he caught sight of Arthur's hand flashing over his food and back into his pocket.  
>He was going to choke.<p>

He slipped into the booth and avoided Arthur's intense eyes, roving his own over his plate.

Arthur watched him for a long moment, before chuckling idly and pulling out a cigarette. "It's something, isn't it?"

Alan lifted his head. "What is?"

"The moment of ambivalence you feel when you see or hear something you don't understand, something you desire, or something that never seemed probable. Believe you me, the first time I heard _Fur Elise_, I felt it. The third time I really felt it was when I heard my neighbor tell me my wife was dead. The fourth time through the tenth time is every single thing you've told me since our contact."

"And what about the second time?"

"..._Opus somnia," _Arthur whispered. Alan noted that his mind had momentarily drifted someplace else.

"I don't know what that means," Alan said as an afterthought.

Arthur shook his head slowly. "You're not supposed to. . . We've exhausted our communion, Alan. Here."

Arthur tossed Alan's business card on the table.

"Don't attempt to initiate any contact with me whatsoever. Cut me off."

"Why? Did you give up?"

"You're dead weight."

Alan could use this. "You're the one who's losing. I've got valuble information."

With a smile, Arthur finally acknowledged him before laughing. "No, you don't. You have nothing. _Omnia nihil. _And the sad thing is that you need me. Without me, you have no reason to focus on this case, no reason for a promotion, no reason for anything. Not that this has become your life, or anything."

"I'm sorry I can't commit to your dead wife and daughter. The only reason they haven't been thrown in another pile of unsolved cases is because they weren't charred when we found them. A few minutes late, and this crime would mean absolutely nothing. Just an addition to a small statistic."

"You believe that, don't you?"

"Because it's the truth."

Arthur, despite the clear pain in his eyes, smiled again. "You really don't understand just how much this litigation means. Not just to the state of California. But to the entire government. This isn't some gangland assassination, no international mob war, this is a bomb. The first one dropped from the underground."

Before Alan could respond, Arthur stood up, straightened out his jacket and prepared to leave.

Out of frustration and sheer aggravation, Alan stabbed his omlette with his fork and lifted a piece up to his mouth, prepared to enjoy it as much as it was humanly possible. Arthur stopped him with four simple words.

"Do you trust me?"

Alan thought about his answer. "Not really."

"Then, I wouldn't eat anything on that plate," Arthur walked away then called over his shoulder. "Especially the Boston Cream Pie!"

* * *

><p><em>"You need to get past this."<em>

_"Get past it? Do you think this is something as minor as a papercut or are you completely oblivious to pain?"_

_"It doesn't hurt."_

_"That's not the point and you know it."_

_"Arthur-"_

_"I'm not going to drop this. That'd be the dumbest thing I've ever done and I've done some pretty stupid-"_

_"Are you even listening to me?"_

_"Of course, I am, that's exactly why I'm doing what I'm doing."_

_"But I don't want you to!"_

_"And this is the one time, I'm not listening to what you want. Because what you need is far more important."_

_"Why are you being so hysterical?"_

_"Why are you being so placid?" Arthur's voice was at a breaking point. "Do these," Arthur pointed, gently caressing the bruise on Ariadne's arm, the black eye, and the cut lip, "mean nothing to you?"_

_"I just don't want anything to happen to you," Ariadne's voice softened as she stepped closer toward Arthur, gently pulling him to her. "You're all I have. And I know that sounds selfish and I'm sorry that I'm like that, that I'm selfish like that. But I need you here."_

_"And I need you safe."_

_Ariadne leaned forward and whispered against his throat, "Don't go to Paris."_

_She backed away and looked up at him with pleading eyes._

_"Please."_

_"Tell me what happened."_

_"I already to-"_

_"Tell me again," Arthur nearly snapped. "Please tell me again."_

_Ariadne swallowed hard and licked her lips. "I was at home. Someone knocked on the door and I thought it was Landon, so I opened it without looking. Whoever was behind it pushed it - kicked it - and it hit me in the head. Then I was on the floor, moaning and bleeding and this guy comes up to me and without saying anything, he . . . he just hits and I tried to reach for the gun. I couldn't grasp it, so I kicked him and he kicked me back. My stomach," Ariadne's hand instinctively clutched her torso. "Before he left, he said your name. Your name. You'd think that would make me afraid to come here, but I didn't know where else to go so I booked a flight...And I'm sorry. I should've thought about this."_

_"I'm leaving."_

_"Ar-"_

_"You stay here. Don't let anyone in. Don't go out. There's plenty of food. I'll be back tomorrow."_

_"Arthur!"_

* * *

><p>Arthur jumped up from his sleep.<p>

His heart was pounding, he was sweating, but he was shaking from the cold temperature.

He wrapped his arms around himself and squinted through the motel room.

The pieces were consolidating.

* * *

><p><em>Opus somnia: The work of the dreams<em>

_Omnia nihil: Nothing to everything_


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Arthur leaned over the fittingly resolute dining table in the reserved motel. The small table was covered in the research papers and documents that he had accumulated over the time he used to do his own interrogations.

Most were recorded statements from Ron and a few firefighters who were on call that night. Then there were confidential credentials regarding advances the force was making in the case, noting little progression, but perpetual convictions at Arthur's fault.

_Mother, Ariadne Hanson, and her one year old daughter, Natalie, were caught in a house fire at approximately 12:19 AM.  
>The bodies were not burned to any extent, aside from a small burn on the mother's right arm. The cause of death has been<br>__cleared as asphyxiation to the fumes._

**A**rthur's throat tightened and dried at the next sentence. It felt as if knives were swimming down his throat the harder he tried to swallow.

_The husband, Arthur Hanson, was not in the house, conveniently out running an errand as the house engulfed in rampant flames._

Not allowing the tears to consume his eyes, Arthur cleared his throat and shook off the despondent feeling that rested upon him. He cleared his throat and peered closer at the doctrine. The lines were repeating themselves, and he hadn't realized why they were until he remembered that this was his fifth time reading said document. He heaved one heavy, long sigh and pushed the papers aside. What he needed was a laptop. Before he was an official Point, he was just a hacker. He could get anything from anyone, which was why Cobb took him under his wing.

Arthur paused, realizing something vital. Something imperative.

Cobb.

All his work with Cobb.

Where did all of those engagements take place?

There were copious assignments in his nine years of employment in the shady corporation. Nine years worth of clandestine dealings and unfortunate losses. Naturally, he left with more enemies than he had arrived with. There was a list, it wasn't a physical list, but it was very existant. Pissed off negotiators when the assignment didn't work out as planned. Marks whose mental capacity was just tolerant enough to serums, whose memories came back. Team-mates who were sore abut a rough cut as a final result. Not to mention, his enemies at Cobol, who were hot on his track before Saito's interference with the matter.

The surfeit amount of jobs, of course, could not be done in the same places. Locations had to be diversified. If a job four months ago was done in Toulon, France then Paris shouldn't be the next hideout. It should be Moscow or Greenland.

So, with this prior knowledge, Arthur calculated a total of seventy one jobs and sixty-three different locations. Five of which were done in Atlanta. Eight in California. Thirteen in New York. Three Yugoslavia. Six in the United Kingdom. Four in Brazil. Ten in Boston. Four in Japan. And, of course, a whopping thirty in France.

He scoffed.

Ron's information hadn't really gotten him anywhere. He had done more jobs in France than any other place and now a French woman was his only lead.

Now, he had to think. He'd done sixteen jobs in France before the matter of Ariadne was introduced and he tried his hardest not to work at that particular location any longer. Ultimately, he failed at that and ended up traveling that exact route fourteen more times. That wasn't the only thing nagging at him. Out of the thirty jobs he'd done in France, how many had he done with women? French women?

Disregarding Mal, of course, he couldn't come to remember any. It was time to pay Cobb a visit.

He shook his head and stood up from his prolonged position. As he reached for his keys, he noticed the manila envelope he had yet to open. The disc he had received after the funereal. His heart leaped at the possibilities it could contain, but soon went terribly steady when he realized the most the disc could contain was another clue. But it would never carry what he really wanted back to him.

Walking out the door, he made the quick decision that a detour wouldn't hurt.

He could use a sting just about now.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

**A/N: This chapter is simply moving us forward.**

_"Your name is Arthur, right?" _

_The young man looked up at Cobb, his interrogator, and smiled enigmaticly before lowering his head again. "That's right. Arthur Han-"_

_"Don't tell me your full name," Cobb cut him off. "A friend of mine told me you were the one I wanted to go to if I needed information from the baseline of CIA. Is that true?"_

_"There's no one out there as good as me."_

_"As much as I trust in your confidence, I have to be sure."_

_Arthur rose his dark eyebrows in question._

_"Actions speak louder than words," Cobb explained with a wave of his hand, "So lead the way."_

* * *

><p><span>The Following Week<span>

Cobb fussed over his thoughts in a decent enough manner as he drove down to McGinty's, the bar that had somehow woven itself into his regular road routine.

His thoughts, amuck at most, really consisted of his children, of Mal (that would never vanish), and of Arthur. The young, retired Point Man had occupied most of his thoughts for five months. From the death of Ariadne and Natalie to the perishing of every bit of life Arthur used to have in his person.

Arthur, young Arthur, a man who used to be filled with such optimism and possessed a smug sense of superiorty developed into the man who knew the job well, was pragmatic, but lacked the optimism and innocence he once had. Now, the only Arthur he knows, the only Arthur in existence, is the cold shell where the old ones used to be. This shell had diminished every bit of Arthur's character and destroyed it. This shell had the possessions of Arthur. His memories, his eyes, his voice, his body, his mind, his pain, but not him.

Cobb convinced himself that the real reason he continued to follow Arthur's mistakes and piece them back together while mending his headache was because Ariadne had once asked him a favor. And though, this favor that had been asked of him was a part of why he decided to do what he did, the real reason was that he believed he could save Arthur from becoming a man filled with regret. A man tortured by his demons. A man much like himself.

Cobb had done something unforgiveable. He planted a virus in his loved one as an experiment. He used the person he loved most as a rhesus monkey and the consequences caught up with hum. Since then, his guilt has been far greater than those around him could correctly interpret. But Arthur...

Arthur was alone.

The way Cobb looked at it, he might as well had murdered his wife, Mal, but the way Arthur saw it, he allowed murderers to come into his home and kill the people he loved most. While he watched.

As Cobb continued to drive down the road, he came to a notion that both hurt and scared him: Arthur would _never _come out of this hole. Arthur would die, letting his guilt consume every fiber in him to live. All there was now, was a dead man walking.

* * *

><p>"Y'know...didyaknow that, uh, Larry said I can't come back?" Arthur slurred in the most incoherent of ways as Cobb put him in the passenger seat of his car and slammed the door shut.<p>

When Cobb got over to the driver side, slid in, and shut the door, he asked Arthur to repeat clearly.

"Larry said I can't come back!" Arthur leaned into his seat, sliding down slightly. "I guess I didn't behave myself well enough."

"Well, you did threaten him," Cobb muttered, more annoyed with the fact that he picked drunk Arthur up from yet another city bar, than with Arthur.

"What can I say?" Arthur shrugged. "He said something he shouldn't have said. I was better off going to that other place...Where're you taking me?"

"Home with me," was all Cobb said to him for the rest of that night.

* * *

><p><em>Ariadne, stomach like the moon, wobbled to Cobb with quivering legs as she held her petite hands against her waist.<em>

_Cobb reached for her, afraid that she would slip and fall at any moment, then slowly placed his hands around hers._

_The circumstances of what was going on was unclear._

_All he knew was that he was leaving and that Arthur was called out to accompany him._

_As Cobb waited for him outside of his suburban home, Ariadne came outside._

_She stood in front of him, glancing back at the house occasionally, and began with:_

_"You and Arthur have known each other for a long time," she spoke quietly, almost as if she were afraid of being heard. "And I know you're the one who took him under your wing and showed him the ropes and what have you, but-"_

_She broke off and looked back at the house for a second._

_"But I also know what you told me. It's dangerous. The people around you can help, but it doesn't change the gravity of the situation. Ever. I know all of these years, you've kept him safe. Be it, something as simple as waking him up during a session to something as grand as risking your life for his. And he - would never admit it - loves you and he appreciates you. And Cobb, you know I feel the same. But you pulling him back here scares me. I'm not going to stop you. I can't. But I have one favor to ask..."_

_Cobb simply nodded once._

_"Just keep him safe," she said softly. "You have been for fourteen years and you can for the next forty." For the first time, she smiled. "Not matter what, Cobb, just keep him safe. Don't ever give up on him."_

_Before Cobb ever got a chance to ask what she meant, or where this was coming from, Arthur was out with a somber expression. He kissed her goodbye, escorted her back to the house, kissed her once again, and got in the car._

_It was unexpected and Cobb hadn't understood it fully, but he promised her that he would just do that._

_So, he did._


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Arthur's eyes lulled over the passing concrete under the headlights with the steady motion of the car, which slowed to a halt after only a few minutes. The driver, Cobb, pulled off onto a driveway and turned the car off. Retrieving the keys from the ignition, Cobb exhaled and leaned his head against his seat, closing his eyes as he did. Arthur saw the motion and felt disgusted with himself; he was causing all the stress in Cobb's renovated life. He was Cobb's broken heart.

"Alright," Cobb prepared to get out of the car, "Come on."

"Wait," Arthur reached over and grabbed Cobb's elbow. "Just wait a second. I need to talk to you-" he paused to swallow the sickening taste of liquor rising up in his throat. "About something really important."

Cobb rubs his eyes, clearly frustrated. "Please, not another one of your venting sessions. It's all the same. Everytime I find you like this, that's how you make up for it. I cannot, will not, listen to another-"

"It's not that," Arthur said in a low voice. "And I'm sorry about that, but if you could put it aside for just a few minutes, I'd really appreciate it."

"Why?"

"Why?" Arthur repeated Cobb. "Why, because I need you to know this. It has everything to do with our relationship here on out. I know you don't think much of our relationship anymore, and I know you hate me. You hate me like Aria-" Arthur broke off and paused, taking a deep breath before he could bring himself to say the name again. "You hate me like Ariadne's parents hate me. You hate me like I hate me. And you guys hate me because you think I did it. And I did. But mostly you guys hate me because I'm not dead."

Arthur would admit that Cobb's failure to deny the topic hurt more than anything.

"Go on then," he said quietly. "Say whatever it is you need to get out and we can move on."

Arthur shied away and closed his eyes while speaking. "I've been following the case. I threatened a man's life for information about it and I hacked into the chief of police's computer to watch what came up as well as the progression being made within the proceedings. I've been listening in on private conferences regarding it and I've accumulated at least five different files on allegations made. All of them against me. I decided I couldn't trust the material coming into the force and I broke off the deal I had with the forensic scientist. He never provided me with anything anyway. So, I started my own research and conducted my own interrogations. I found out that before the fire started, my neighbor heard voices and saw silhoettes outside his window. One of the voices belonged to a French woman who I've identified as Gaetana Bruni. . . Do you remember her?"

"Bruni," Cobb murmured, deeply enitced. He recalled the French woman he and Arthur had associated with in a job long before inception. It was the extraction of the CEO of a major corporate company, regular flashy overthrow. She was the fellow point on the job and she was quality. After the job, they never kept in touch. "How'd you figure this out?"

"At first, I made the mistake of conjecturing that it had to be a job we did in France. If you can recall, we had plenty of jobs there. But then I realized half way through my research that it was't even in France that we had contacted a French female _point. _It was in Sri Leon. And after that, I remembered her instantly."

"Wait, wait, wait. Let's get back to the beginning. You hacked into the chief of police's personal computer?"

"I had to," Arthur defended. "There's no alternative, better way to explain it. I just had to."

A pause infiltrated the car.

"What would Gaetana have to do with what happened?"

"That I haven't figured out yet," Arthur said. "I figured that I could follow her down to New Zealand and get some answers out of her."

"How are you so sure she'll cooperate?"

"I'm not asking. She's going to give me what I need by any and all means. I'll do anything."

"No. No, I disagree with ths completely. You're not going down to New Zealand to play the role of Charles Bronson. You're staying here and you're going to..."

"What am I going to do? What?" Arthur's voice was dry. "Where can I possibly go from here? Do you remember the night I came to you after I proposed to her? What did I say to you?"

Cobb recalled throughout their entire partnership together, Arthur was introverted yet completely reckless. He was a man wounded and would often react in radical ways, think in radical terms. But he was a danger to himself. And as he got older he changed into this confident, sleek man with a cold, cold persona. But when he met Ariadne, he changed. And when the two of them got engaged, Arthur said to Cobb, "I feel like I actually have something to live

for."

"Yes, I remember," Cobb whispered.

"So, answer me this, what am I suppose to go back to? I don't actually _have _a reason to live anymore. I don't. If finding out doesn't kill me along the way, I'll drive off of a cliff. Because I can't stand being on this planet for another second without them."

Cobb was quiet once again.

"Cobb, you need to know how important you are to me. How important you were to Ariadne. To us. You're the closest friend I've ever had. And you're not even - you're just family. You're my mentor. And everything you've ever done for me just leaves me so grateful for having you. You're a great man. Not just to your friends and your family. You didn't even know Ariadne that well, but you made it your mission to keep her safe. . . I wanted you to know that you would know. So, you would know now. I love you. You've been my brother, my father, and my closest friend all rolled into one. There's no one that I trust more than you."

"Why now?"

"Because once I step foot out of this car, you'll never see me again."

With that, Arthur left.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

**A/N: Really a terribly told chapter, but very imperative.**

_Her slim fingers grazed against his scalp, massaging it gently. He let out a muffled moan in response. He'd just come back from an extended stay in Bristol, England. It was not a job, but a disguise. A couple of months before, a job had gone wrong and the mark turned lose. He held up in England for as long as he could under a different name. He hadn't seen her for months. _

_Following a surprise visit from some unhappy team members, he managed to escape and left as quickly as he could and turned over in Paris. She wasn't home so he broke into her apartment and collapsed on her small bed, inhaling as much of her as he could take in._

_It wasn't until midnight when he felt her lay down next to him, her arms wrap around him, and her lips caress his chin. It wasn't until then that he realized what he'd done._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered. His voice was dry and cracked, sounding like a traveler dying of thirst._

_She didn't respond, but she leaned over him, looked into his eyes and ran her fingers through his hair. "No gel," she said with a smile, "and it's a lot longer."_

_As an afterthought, she added "Nice shave" upon seeing the shadow over his mouth._

_"I haven't really been able to maintain my hygiene to the extent I would wish for," his mouth was slightly covered by the pillow. _

_"I like it long," she said with a quiet, forced laugh. "It makes you look human."_

_"You're not mad?" He caught her hand and brought it down, holding it against his chest._

_"I'm not not mad," she said, "but I'm just happy that you're not dead."_

_For months he had been worried about her well-being, he knew there were people who knew about her. Who knew what he meant to her. He worried about what they would have done._

_"Ditto," he said and she laughed._

_"Come on," she stood up and took his hand in hers. "Take a shower. I'll fix up your wounds as I am positive you have atleast one, and I'll get some food ready."_

_"Thank you," he managed weakly._

_"Up you get."_

_She helped him up and placed his arm over her shoulder walking him to the bathroom. Inside, she helped him out of his clothes, tried her best not to react to the large, purple bruise forming on his abdomen, and helped him into the shower. _

_"Are you good?" She asked nicely._

_He shook his head, watching her closely and completely ignoring the water splashing in his face. "You know I didn't want to leave you, right? You know I wanted to come back? If it had been up to me-"_

_"If it had been up to me too," she interrupted, her voice still soft. "If it _had _been up to me, Arthur."_

_All was silent, the two left gazing at each other. _

_"Do you still love me?" He whispered._

_Ariadne scoffed, rolling her eyes, attempting to rid herself of the tears she could feel coming on. "Yeah," she shrugged casually, avoiding his gaze. "Of course, I do."_

_Arthur watched in awe as her tears fell over and he pulled her forward into a hug and she gripped him tightly, beginning to sob._

_Now, she was in the shower, getting soaked. Her clothes becoming ruined. But neither of them cared. _

_She pulled away, looked him in the eyes, and said just a little above a whisper, "Wake up."_

* * *

><p>Arthur stepped into the shabby motel for the last time, carrying a black duffel bag. He glanced at the room. It was clean, perfect, and all of his research was packed safely into a messenger bag by the door. He passed the bed and stepped into the dark bathroom. He stood there for a full fifteen seconds before switching the light on and placing his black duffel bag on the back of the toilet.<p>

He stared at his reflection. He had bags under his eyes, but he'd always had that. Even before Ariadne and Natalie died. He stayed up late worrying about them. He didn't have to worry about that anymore.

"No more worrying about worrying," he muttered. "Check."

His hair had grown out almost to his shoulders and it was greasy and sloppy. He had grown a beard and he looked ages older, but behavioral wise, he looked immature.

He reached the shower and turned it on, stripping off his lost identity clothes and stepping inside. He washed his hair and scrubbed the stench of beer off of his body.

* * *

><p>Standing in front of the mirror once again, he emptied the contents of his duffel bag: a pair of scissors, a comb, shaving cream, a razor, gel, a lighter, hairspray, a suit safely tucked in another compartment, and a bottle of whiskey.<p>

He grabbed the scissors first and cut at his hair, cutting it until it stopped just below his ears. He put the scissors back, and grabbed the comb and the hair gel. He swept the comb down through his hair backwards, then squirted gel on his palm. Rubbing his hands together, he coated his hair in the expensive gel he used to use.

Running his hands under the faucet and collecting drops of cold water, he splashed it on his cheeks until his face was wet. He squirted shaving cream over his cheeks and rubbed it over. Picking up the razor, he stared at his reflection. He only then realized that he should have gelled his hair after he shaved.

"Good move, genius," he said. "Great move."

When he was done, he was dressed in his new Louis Vuitton suit. As he straigtened out his tie, he, once again, analyzed his reflection. He looked young again. He looked like someone he used to be. But he didn't look at all happy.

"Ariadne," he whispered, staring himself dead in the eyes. "Nat...If you let them down, I'll kill you myself."

He grabbed his duffel bag and messenger bag, then checked out of the hotel.

* * *

><p>Arthur drove down the road, going 120 miles per hour, passing by a forest at the speed of light. A good sign, he figured, the road he was on was deserted. He had driven down this road before...Flashes of him and his daughter ran through his mind and he stopped the car suddenly. He had stopped right in front of a cliff.<p>

He stepped out of the car, grabbing his bags. He pulled out the clothes he was wearing before: a hoody, jeans, and a rugged t-shirt. He threw them all in the front of the car. He pulled out the lighter, the hairspray, and the flask of whiskey.

"Goodbye, Hanson," he took the nozzle of the hairspray off and put it on the dashboard. Taking a big gulp of alcohol, he proceeded to douse the car with whiskey. He then flicked the lighter and tossed inside, next to the leaking hairspray. The car was in flames in only a few moments. He sighed and pushed the car off the cliff.

* * *

><p><em>Arthur looks in his rear view mirror and smiles at the sight of his daughter in her car seat. She is gazing out of the window with an oddly serious expression for her only a ten month old. He adjusts the mirror.<em>

_"Nat," he says with a smile._

_She hums in response and he laughs. "Look at me, honey."_

_She does so and smiles at him, laughing as she does._


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Detective Joshua Black sat in his office, leaning up against the leather upholstery of the black swivel chair. His feet were up on his desk, the heels of his thrift store dress shoes sitting over accumulated files of crime rates. His office phone was up against his ear and he was listening inently, but without respect.

"I understand," he said dryly, "Sir, I am not doctor, but you sound to me like you need to take two dosages of vicodin and get off my dick."

He hung up the phone, practically slamming it on the receiver.

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing. He liked to help people, he liked to help people help themselves which is the main reason he decided to become a detective. Throughout the academy, he knew his true goal was to be where he was now, sitting behind a desk and pushing stacks and stacks of files on criminal activity. But - - there's always a but - - he didn't like the hands he's been dealt. He hadn't realized when he was younger just how much life being a detective takes out of you. By the time he completed a full case, he felt like he was already whithered away and buried. Today, he'd been trying to relinquish the negativity. Trying to relax without seeming careless.

He inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly, creating a new mood and clearing out his frustration before it could seep into anger. He tossed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, imagining lying on a beautiful beach in Bora Bora. The vision ended when he felt air against him as his office door opened. He opened his eyes to see the one and only Alan Gezersky standing in front of him. His eyes were wide and he looked disturbed and shocked. His stance was awkward, but that wasn't exactly a deviation from the regular.

Joshua waited for him to say something, but Alan's silence said that Joshua had to begin the situation.

"Something I can help you with, Alan?"

Alan was preturbed, but managed to utter the following: "Arthur Hanson's dead."

* * *

><p>Cobb received the call around ten a.m. He had been up all night thinking about the words Arthur had said to him the night that he basically jumped out of the car and walked off without even looking back once. Those words were haunting him, repeating in his head over and over again.<p>

_"...once I step foot out of this car, you'll never see me again."_

At first he thought that it was empty threat, but he hadn't heard from him at all.

He hadn't gotten any late night calls from bartenders.

He hadn't gotten any word from the exhausted point.

Cobb wouldn't even let the possibility of him being dead get passed him. It was a possibility and he's learned that, in life, possibilities are really all you need.

So, when the call came. There was no surprise.

"So, can I see him?"

* * *

><p>"I'm guessing it was because of this particular road," the police officer said. "There's been cases of people falling over that cliff. Understandably so, just looking past from a distance, it looks like the road is just still going. The sharp turn is really difficult to see especially at night. He was probably speeding, missed the turn, and...well, the rest is here."<p>

Joshua listened with a stern, blank expression on his face. He'd been finding it difficult to believe Hanson was dead. He couldn't be...yet, all of the facts were laid out in front of him. Police cars were surrounding the quiet road. He and a rookie stood close to the cliff, looking down at the barely recognizable car that sat at the bottom of the ditch. All signs were pointing to it.

"We're getting people on fishing the car out of there, maybe then we'll find something left of him. But I doubt it, the whole thing's charred."

Joshua nodded once. "Thank you. You can leave now."

The young guy gave Joshua a look of confusion before walking away.

Right after the rookie walked away, Alan came up standing next to Joshua. His expression was somber, shocked, and utterly disturbed. He stared down at the accident without saying a word.

"Alan, let me ask you something."

"Shoot," Alan didn't change his expression, his voice was monotonous.

"You met this guy a few times, right?"

"Sure."

"Do _you _think he's dead?"

Alan forced out a choked chuckle. "He would do anything for some kind of redemption. With this guy, you can never know. But I...I think he's dead."

Joshua nodded. "Good."

Alan swallowed. He knew for sure Arthur wasn't dead. He was too fucked up to die right now.

* * *

><p>Cobb held the phone against his cheek, pressing it on his shoulder as he typed furiously at his laptop.<p>

"Arthur's not stupid," he said into the phone. "He's crazy, but he's not stupid."

Cobb typed a name into the search engine. He smiled at the results.

"He's a genius, actually... No, he told me something a few days ago. . .I've got a hunch. I'm trying to see if I'm right."

The next thing he typed in gave him no results aside from a few articles of which had one name in it or one phrase.

"Wait a sec-" Cobb set the phone down and stared at the computer screen.

The pieces were consolidating. He shook his head, smiling again. He picked up the phone.

"I knew there was a reason I always kept him around."


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

_Los Angeles_**  
><strong>

Both of alias had been eradicated from every search engine. Barely any concrete details concluded that Arthur was in fact Arthur Hanson or Arthur Miller which, in Cobb's opinion, was the worst alias anyone in the world could consummate. Traces of him had almost completely disappeared, but as the investigation of arson was only just coming into play, Hanson could not be thoroughly erased. Cobb wondered by what name he would be travelling under if he had restricted himself by locking away his most used aliases, but he realized that it didn't matter. It didn't matter because Arthur was going to figure out. It didn't matter because Arthur knew what he was doing. It didn't matter because Arthur wanted to be dead and so he was.

Just as Cobb is about to liberate his worries and leave Arthur to do what needed to be done, he finally recognized just what an idiot he had been. He realized that the months that passed like years after the fire were all plotted down to a tee. That Arthur, though six feet in his grief, was planning for this moment the entire time. No, he had planned further, but it was this moment that he had waited for. The interrogation with Detective Black-Arthur purposely feigned in a suspicious manner to make all eyes go on him as suspect. The alliance formed with the young forensic scientist Alan Gezersky was planned out solely for the purprose of gathering information. The string to cut him lose was to cut out Black's resources - his men would be keeping secrets from him. The visit to his old neighbor only to appear as a hopeless, desperate, inconsolible man. The drinking, the surmountable drinking, was simply to seem broken, to appear as someone who _would _burn in a car crash after speeding on a deserted road. Getting Cobb to not trust him was to keep Cobb and his children out of trouble and out of harmsway. The only sincere thing he had done in those following months was his periodic crying and his sincere apology to the parents of Ariadne.

He meant every last word he said to them that day in the rain.

But the things he said to Cobb...the last night Cobb saw him was to keep him away. Saying that Cobb would never see him again wasn't a threat, but the young retired point was protecting him and his children against the shit storm that he knew would follow. And here Cobb was believing his well to do point man had completely failed him, getting drunk constantly, starting fights with civillians, staring at pictures of Natalie and Ariadne for hours on end was, for the most part, planned. Because Arthur was never the kind of person to simply _deal _with an occurence, he was the kind of person who took care of it. From the moment he knew his family was dead, he predicted and calculated all of his decisions with great precision and accuracy.

Cobb smiles again and repeats into the phone, "I knew there was a reason I always kept him around."

* * *

><p><strong>Approx. 10:04 PM<strong>

**Las Vegas, Nevada**

**Venetian Las Vegas**

**11:09 PM**

Inside of this cavernous building, teeming with low lives all across the globe, under the shining, flashing lights and over the green carpet stained with alcohol sits the hottest table in all of Nevada right now. A lot of the leeching men and women have come down from different areas of the hotel just to see the man himself who was causing all of this havoc. Maybe lend a "helping hand" in hopes that he would feel something and give them a share, or say they could filch it after a one night stand. He had gotten the security's, but the arms refused to come down on account that no one had witnessed any counting of cards being performed.

So all was left as it was.

Still, the man was getting loads of attention and if he actually played this right, not ending up another almost famous shot in Nevada, he would be getting loads of money.

Who was this man?

No one knew. No one could place him.

But Arthur, standing in the back, close to the slot machines recognized him, knew every feature.

He knew that blonde, wavy hair and those green eyes. Thin smile and trimmed eyebrows. A pinstripe dress shirt with khaki pants and a pretty much tarnished belt.

This twenty-two year old looked like a white collar worker.

He was really the youngest person in the dream sharing field to succeed in eradicating.

His name? Parker Greeson.

And he, Arthur knows, is one of the persons involved in killing his family.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception.** **Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged but really positive ego buffers.  
><strong>

**A/N: Did you miss me? For the gritty low down about my whereabouts, just go to the profile. I hope this chapter is good. I'm a little rusty.**

Parker didn't need to turn on the light or call out. He hadn't even gotten the chance to pull out the gun in his waistband before the cold metal was pressed hard against his back. His breathing labored, his back straightened and he could feel everything in him freeze over.  
>"Don't speak," a cold voice says, a voice filled with disgust. "Don't scream. Don't say a word. Now walk to the window."<br>Parker gulped, trying to swallow down his fear but his heart beat simply accelerated. He walked forward, eyes flashing to the bedside table where he stored a .38 caliber for this exact situation. He licked his lips and looked back to the window; he only needed his captor to make a single false move and _bam. _He stood in front of the tall glass windows, looked down. He saw a crowd of people, not just a small crowd but nearly the kind of crowd that The Beatles were known for attracting.  
>"Why is this relevant to me?" Parker managed to utter, his voice only quivering slightly.<br>"My favorite things about Vegas are the tourists and they all like to see things they've never seen before include the cirque. Sold out shows all 'round, rooms booked for people who won't be here all night-"  
>"Get to the point. Please."<br>The man behind him remained relatively calm. "You're the only person on this flow and with the crowd down there and the activities going on downstairs, no one is going to hear a gunshot if you force me to fire one. Sit down."

_Idiot, _Parker thought as he took a few precarious steps toward the queen sized bed. His captor turned, lowering his gun to his side and stepping toward the mini bar. All the lights in the room were still shut off, the festivities from outside let in the slightest of illumination but all they did was outline the shape of this strange man. He was tall, slender but clearly muscles in all the right places. His hair was smoothed back against his head and he leaned forward, sniffing an open bottle of brandy.  
>Parker kept his eyes on him as he reached for the bedside table and opened the drawer as slowly and as quietly as he could manage. He reached inside and felt nothing, only the bottom.<br>"I'm not that big of an idiot," he says without turning. Pouring a glass of brandy, dropping ice cubes inside. Parker moves to reach for the gun under the pillow. "No, no, that's gone too."  
>"On you?"<br>"No, I only have my revolver." He turned. "Do you know who I am?"  
>Parker squinted, trying to make him out and get a glimpse of his face when the assailant turned on the light. He had fair skin, dark almond eyes, and his was short, jet blacked. Slicked over. Slightly parted on one side. This man…<br>"Try now," he said. "Do I look familiar?"  
>He had a smirk playing on his lips while he caught Parker's eye. He took a sip from the glass and Parker suddenly remembered his face, seeing in it in a black and white photo that came in a manila folder-<br>"Parker! You can't tell me that you don't recognize my face! You, sir, have changed my life."  
>"Arthur," Parker whispered, almost breathlessly.<br>Arthur's smile widened. "Arthur what?"  
>Parker was at a loss. Arthur had so many aliases, he couldn't find the man's actual last night. "Arthur Hanson?" He asked hopefully.<br>Arthur's eyes had a flash of anger, his smile still wide, he set down his glass and turned to Parker again.  
>"Wrong," he said. "Arthur Hanson is dead. In fact, he's been dead for a good 48 hours now. Do you want to know how he died?"<br>Parker swallowed hard and didn't respond.  
>"Well, that's not very nice. Pay some respect. After all, you are a part of the reason why he isn't with us anymore. Poor guy. You see, he was really, really drunk. I mean, beyond drunk; he was completely gone! And he was on this deserted road, right, speeding straight and whoosh! He fell off a cliff on a sharp turn he hadn't seen. Burned alive…caught in a fiery furnace. Kinda like his daughter…how old was she?...Oh yeah, about twelve months, only a year old. You know what's funny, his wife died with his daughter…Her daughter, in her arms, she was slumped against the kid's room…What were their names again?"<br>"Natalie and Ariadne," Parker said quickly, realization pounding him in the head, he shook his head rigorously and licked his lips. "No, no, Arthur listen to me, you've got the wrong person, listen to me."  
>"I've got the wrong person? I've got the wrong <em>person<em>? You know their goddamn names and I've got the wrong person? You didn't read that shit in the paper, no no, it wasn't important enough to print their names. Wasn't news at all."  
>"Listen to me, I had nothing to do with that, I swear. Nothing! Okay I'm just the son of a rich man. If you want money, I can-"<br>"You've learned a lot from your dad. Admirable really. You're an excellent liar but I have the upper hand. I happen to know just how deep this story goes and where it unfolds. And every single aspect in which you were involved…You found me. I was hiding and you found me."  
>Parker looked down, relinquishing all options for escape and, not giving up hope, but practicing his last resort: honesty.<br>"Let's lay everything out then, Arthur," he said. "You didn't make it hard for us to find you at all. In fact, if you _were _trying, you did a real shitty job of covering your tracks."  
>"Us? There was no 'us'. It was all you. Sure, it wasn't your idea and it wasn't all your own strings but it definitely was you. You are an excellent researcher. Worked in the research branch of the CIA, am I correct? You've gone rogue but they haven't been looking for you, no no. You've caused them a lot of trouble: they don't want you back. You have dirt but you're not a liability. But if they get the chance to retrieve you...or to have you 'eradicated', I don't think they'd hesitate."<br>"So that's your threat. The CIA. Tell them my whereabouts? Kill me off for them?"  
>"No, you're wrong again. You suck at this game, you know. I have no intentions of placing you back with the CIA. You're mind now, sweetheart and I'd like to have a little fun with you."<br>Arthur pulled up the chair at the stationary and pulled it at the foot of the bed. He took a seat, holing the his revolver in one hand and the brandy in the other.  
>"First let me see if you have my starter puzzle pieces in the right picture…You were in the shadows. Someone found you. They gave you an envelope. Orange, tightly sealed. 'Confidential'. Had my profile in it. They left you with a brief engagement and vague information and you reviewed what was there. You saw my picture. Black and white. Some odd six years old, I'm guessing. Grainy, like taken from a surveillance camera. You see my name and my start up in the business. You get to work. You find me in sunny California, residing in a perfect suburbia with my wife. Maybe three…four months pregnant with Nat. And you wait all that time to take action. You're paid a sum of $15,000,000. You ask no questions. You disappear."<br>Parker's eyes bugged at Arthur whose wide smile was long gone, replaced with a grim thin line and dark accusatory eyes. "If you know all the answers, why are you asking me?"  
>Arthur's eyes narrowed and roved over Parker's person as if evaluating his worth. "I'm an inquirer. I'm missing pieces and I am in dire need of answers. Now. I probably shouldn't tell <em>you<em> this, but my life depends on you telling me the name of the person who hired you."  
>Parker narrows his own eyes and by now he's figured that Arthur probably won't take as much action as he's betting on. The guy admitted to being desperate. Just a desperate heap of mess—<p>

Parker howled as the incredibly loud ringing in his ear reverberated in his brain and instilled a painful white blindness. His eyes watered excessively that his vision blurred. He could barely make out Arthur's figure, holding the smoking revolver and aiming it just past his head. Parker reached up to his ear and felt hot _mush, _then retrieving his hand, he saw nothing but blood swirling in his finger tips.  
>Arthur's blurry apparition shook his head slowly. "Usually I don't enjoy partaking in violence but Mr. Greeson, when I ask you a question I expect an answer right away for your own sake. Who hired you?"<br>Parker opened his mouth to speak, raising his arm once again to get a feel of his ear or what was left of it anyway. Once he felt the pulp, however, a new sensation made him cry out loud again. He found that he couldn't move his arm and the source of the pain was his elbow. The ligaments were torn up and on fire; this time he was actually crying.  
>"As much as I appreciate you admiring my work, I want an answer <em>first,<em>" all signs of friendliness no matter how feigned were long gone. "Who hired you?"  
>Parker, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sparkling with sadness and tears, looked up at Arthur and slowly, weakly shook his head. "I don't know," he whimpered. "Please, d-don't-"<br>Arthur heaved a heavy, aggravated sigh and lifted his revolver fired. This time, Parker's pain had doubled over and he cried heavy tears as he screamed in agony. His gut was ripping open and had been extensively scarred.  
>Arthur shook his head. "When you don't give me an answer that's one thing, but when you give me answer that gives me no answer at all, it's even worse. Now if you don't give me an answer, your options are death or death. What low life scumbag hired you to kill them?"<br>Parker cried, "I don't know! I don't … her name, I don't know her name…."  
>"Her? We're getting somewhere."<br>"I don't…." Saliva dribbled out of Parker's mouth, mixing with the blood. He gathered enough energy to spit it on to the linen sheets. "She was…foreign, she had an accent…Blond…blond, blue eyes…I can't-"  
>"You can't what?"<br>"Remember…her name," Parker's breaths were shortening. "I…her name."  
>"Where did she find you?"<br>"Izhevsk…Her name was Olesya…Tomsk. Olesya Tomsk!"  
>Arthur watched the crimson blood rise up and gather on Parker's mouth, splattering on the white sheets with disgust. He stood up to his feet, downed the brandy, and looked out the window. The crowd was still loud; they were still oblivious. Parker grabbed Arthur's hand.<br>"I told you…I t-told what you wanted to know…"  
>"I just love your optimism. Maybe ten minutes left for you to bleed out completely…if you have strength maybe longer. But you know what…I like your cooperation so much, I'm gonna do you a favor."<br>Arthur fired another shot, this time to Parker's head.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers**

The room smelt like gunpowder and whiskey.  
><em>Damp, <em>he thought to himself. _Treason  
><em>He noted that there was no detection of forced entry but that only worried him more. The bloody bastard whose head had long since been retracted in a formidable and unrecognizable physicality was responsible for his own killing. Naturally. They were, after all, a bunch of back wood cons. It isn't so much the truth of his mark being murdered as much as it is the clean sleekness to which his destiny fell upon him. It was the method.  
>The minuscule signs of irreverent torture were enough to indicate something personal but the contradictory method was clearly done by a professional. A person who has killed many, many times before this one. This murderer is more intriguing than his death.<br>It had peculated him of some hefty large sum of money but he couldn't help but feel enticed by the murderer. And it just so happened that he knew where he's going next.

* * *

><p>Arthur placed his passport on the counter, earning a kindred smile from the attendant.<br>"Moscow," he said sternly. "One."  
>The young woman beamed up at him, her golden red hair radiating from the sunlight that broke through the terminal windows and her thin, brightly painted lips squeezed tight. Arthur looked her over, grateful for being hidden under the cloak of aviator shades as to not arouse some sort of disgusted response to her sexually driven advances. He noted that her hands were trembling as she tried to grip tight on his passport while her other hand was busy punching keys into the archaic computer, was relatively steady. He looked at her slightly tanned skin and inexplicably frowned whilst a half remembered memory flashed through his mind of starkly contrasting pale skin.<p>

"Are you sure that a guy like you _wants_ to be alone in Moscow?"

Arthur saw her eyes sparkling with both hope and a minuscule amount of water. Tears. He cleared his throat but when his words came out, they were still gruff.

"Sweetheart," he started. "I'm sure that I am a lot of things but I'm not your prince charming, okay? I'm not even your bad guy. Just a guy who's passing through. I'm sure there's someone but it's not me."

The woman's eyelids fluttered so excessively, to an onlooker it would appear that she was experiencing a mental breakdown. She placed his passport and ticket in front of him, this time without even looking him in the eye.

* * *

><p>"Can you believe this?!"<p>

Alan shrugged his bony shoulders then pressed his glasses further up his nose. "It seems nearly plausible."

"I had him, I know I had him...The bastard...Who would get so lucky?"

"I'm sorry? Lucky?"

Detective Black nodded. "Yes, that's right. _Lucky. _He kills his wife and kills his daughter, he forgot to update the life insurance so there's no money. Boo hoo. He comes this close to getting caught and what happens? He fucking dies!"

"Which part of that is lucky, sir?"

"If you killed your family, would you wanna get caught?"

"No, but I don't think dying in a fire is the best substitute ever..."

"That's karma, Alan. Don't listen to no one who says karma doesn't exist because it clearly does and its last known victim was Arthur Hanson!"

Alan swallowed. If Arthur was really dead, did this mean he could confess? No. It'd be impossible. Arthur was highly intelligent and he was dangerous. Even if he was dead, Alan wasn't going to allow a vengeful spirit to get on his case.

"You know what I can't figure out though..."

Joshua spoke in a low voice, almost murmuring to himself.

"...I can't wrap my mind around how he did it."

"Did what?"

"You saw him," he leaned forward. "The man, before the arson, had a lot of money. He was relatively successful. His wife was an architect and he was the top agent of real estate so what I can't figure out is how he brought himself to ruin it all..."

"You don't really think he did it, do you?"

"Don't tell me you've fallen for a suspect again..."

"No, listen, this time it's different." Alan leaned forward as well, finally deciding to let the detective in on what he knew...Well partially. "Think about it: there's a man who's successful, there's a wife who's successful, there's a daughter, and there's, even more importantly, love. There's love. Don't you think there's something a little off about a man killing his wife and daughter? I mean, particularly a man like Arthur Hanson?"

"Maybe the wife had an affair with her, I dunno, her boss or something. Maybe the kid wasn't his. Maybe he was a man on edge. Gezersky, it happens all the time. Too often, I might add. If people just did what they were supposed to do and at the very least talked about it, there wouldn't be anymore cold crime scenes to deal with."

"I just don't think he could have done it."

"Why are so _Gung Ho_ for this guy?"

Alan hesitated.

"I know a man like him. A man who, when wronged, can deal with it straight or just ignore the problem. He can put up with it. But when it comes to those he loves being harmed or wronged on his account, there will be blood. Heads will roll."

"And you're so sure because...?"

"If you willingly killed your wife and daughter, would you be interrogating your neighbors about what they saw the night you did it?"

Joshua quieted. He remembered Ron Stampler, Hanson's older neighbor, contacting the police department about Arthur who had come to him demanding details of the night. Ron practically begged for the charges to be dropped and for energy to be spent looking for the real culprits.

(Who he also claimed to know nothing about.)

Alan shrugged again. "Like I said, with a man like that, there will be blood."


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged but really positive ego buffers.**

"_I really shouldn't come in."_

_Ariadne stood in the door way, one hand on the knob and another lingering on to Arthur's hand. "You really should. You should so we can drink tea and eat macaroons and talk and sit in the sounds of silence together."  
>"That's one hell of a run on sentence," Arthur smiled.<br>She laughed, leaning her head against the oak door. "Please. I really want you to come in with me. And I know you want to. Don't pretend you don't."  
>"I'm not. I never said I didn't. I just really should not go inside there with you."<br>She let out a long sigh, not much out of agitation, not much out of exasperation. More like she was letting out her excitement from the night, from the date, from the exuberance of a perfect date.  
>"Does this have anything to do with what you mentioned at the warehouse?"<br>"I mentioned a lot of things at the warehouse," he responded nonchalantly, not wanting to walk further into what he deemed to be hall of mirrors. To see strange apparitions and look into the eyes of peculiar brass tacks that were just reflections.  
>"You mentioned something about us," she said quietly. "How we shouldn't be casually conversing. How it could be troublesome in the end."<br>Arthur nodded once, still wearing a grin, laughing at the situation in his head. "This would have a little to do with what I mentioned, yes. Why?"  
>"Did I ever tell you that every time I write a persuasive essay, no matter the topic, no matter the bullshit anecdotes I conjure up, I always manage to get a not only satiable but magnificently perfect grade?"<br>"You may have mentioned something like that once or twice if my memory serves me right."  
>"Right. So prepare for a flood gate of persuasion. Here comes my whole philosophical observation of this here predicament we're in. It's quite simple and quick so you have to listen out for it. Are you ready?"<br>His smile widened as he let out a small chuckle. "I think I can manage."  
>"If I'm not mistaken, Sir Arthur…you've already fallen for my fascinating and impeccable charm-"<em>

_The two broke out into animated giggles, both of their smiles so big that it reddened their faces.  
>"So," Ariadne continued breathlessly. "You, my dearest dear, are already in deep shit because now, no matter how hard you try to keep yourself away, captivated you will always take concerned you down. So why don't you just give in now?"<br>She gently pulled at the cuff of his shirt and he allowed himself to step into her domain.  
>"You didn't hear my number two, Monsieur."<br>She pushed herself against him, holding her head close to his, hey eyes on his mouth and her lips barely moving._

"_What is your number two, Mademoiselle?"  
>"Arthur, my dear, I'm quite smitten with you as well so I think it'd be in our best interest to see just how happy we can be in the other's arms."<br>He leaned his forehead close to hers and said in a clear, strong voice:  
>"I really shouldn't come in."<em>

* * *

><p>Cobb drums his fingers along the maple top of the table in the high society café as he waits for good news and relief to come through the door. Initially, he was happy to hear that Arthur wasn't dead but when he finally realized what the dubious Point Man would be up to, he wished that he were dead. That way, he could be protected from the many arduous and maniacal situations he'd put himself in. Cobb wasn't looking to protect the people that put Natalie and Ariadne in the places they were in today; he completely understood Arthur's need to take them and slaughter them in thousands, he just didn't want Arthur to be in the middle of the fiery hailstorm that is revenge.<p>

A cool breeze crept into the café and Cobb's biting eyes darted towards the door. And even with Arthur on a death mission, Ariadne and Natalie in the ground, and his life never being the same again, Cobb had to smile.

* * *

><p>"I don't know where I'm going," Arthur said to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with fire in his eyes. "I know where I'm supposed to go but I don't know where I'm going."<p>

His reflection asked him how he felt.

"Sick. I feel really sick. Killing that guy—"

It asked if he regretted killing him.

"No. I don't. I don't regret at all. Not a single moment. I just feel like it really got me nowhere."

"You weren't killing to find out who was at the root of this. Not yet. You're doing it to make them suffer. It's simple."

Arthur shook his head and made his mind one again. He turned the facet on, making sure the water was on the verge of searing and he looked back up at his reflection.

_Say them to me..._

_"_Kenny Detmer. Alan Darcy. Gaetana Bruni. Olesya Tomsk."

Arthur nodded at himself before beginning the rigorous clean up process. He recited those names to himself over and over again.


	26. Chapter 26

_****_**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged but really positive ego buffers.**

_Nobody feels any pain__  
><em>_Tonight as I stand inside the rain_

The rhythmic strumming of the acoustic guitar and the small belts on the harmonica flowed together and inside of each other perfectly. The voice of a poet striking his ears.

He looked at the radio and reached to turn on the volume then he let his eyes return to the view from the car window. A woman up in the apartment room left her window open as she unhooked the straps of her bra. And just like that, someone else showed up in that window.

He was looking at her from the inside as he lie on the soft mattress. In front of him, she pulled up her messy hair into a pony tail.

_Queen Mary, she's my friend__  
><em>_Yes, I believe I'll go see her again__  
><em>_Nobody has to guess__  
><em>_That Baby can't be blessed_

_As it played out on his stereo, the woman in front of him carefully clasped the hooks on her bra strap, her hair now tame. Her bra, a light crème color could have disappeared onto her skin and as she pulled on her underwear, he appreciated the stark contrast that the red panties had against her skin. He smiled. She turned to him, her face lighting up in a smile._

"_Shall we?"_

The woman in the apartment building slid off the bra and tossed it to the side. She faced the window and closed the curtains. Arthur frowned. All he could do was hope that she didn't see him. Anything more and he would risk the very essential element of surprise. He started the car and drove off as quietly and slowly as he could, thinking of a woman of yester year.

_But you break just like a little girl_

* * *

><p>"He said he's going after Gaetana Bruni."<p>

"_Who's that?"_

"She's someone we worked with a long time ago."

"_What, all three of us?"_

Cobb shook his head only to realize that it was pointless, he spoke into the phone.

"No, it was just me and Arthur."

"_Arthur and I."_

Cobb stopped, breathing in carefully to keep himself from cursing. "Me and Arthur."

"_Whatever, what does she have to do with anything?"_

"He thinks she had something to do with it, I don't know what. I think he may think that she's the leader. His neighbor told him that he heard a woman with a French accent and Arthur immediately thinks it's her, not just someone who was caught up in it who he never met."

"_If Arthur thinks it then it must be true."_

"Are you serious?"

"_In all of my years working with him, I can't recall a single time that he was wrong about someone. Where is Gaetana?"_

"No idea. He said something about New Zealand but…I really don't know."

"_Cobb, you know it's gonna be blood bath, right?"_

"Believe me, I know. The last person I know of that _looked_ at Ariadne the wrong way is paralyzed from the waist down."

* * *

><p>Gaetana looked out the window watching the dark car pull out of the street. The smoke from her cigarette floated upwards and she frowned. She couldn't see the inside so she missed the driver's face but she had an uneasy feeling in her gut that said danger was close.<p>

She ran to her bathroom and there she walked into the closet. In the corner there was a safety lock box where she put in the combination. She reached in to the box, feeling for the envelope. For a few, all she got was steel but eventually her hand found its way to the back where the envelope was sitting. She shut the box.

She picked up her phone and dialed the all too familiar number.

* * *

><p>It was time.<p>

Arthur was feeling, much to his chagrin, a lack of felicity. In all seriousness, this moment shouldn't be one that made him happy. He knew how much Gaetana was involved and he knew what she did and doing this to her would make him very, very happy for a modicum of time but it wouldn't satiate him. And that was that.

Walking up the stairs of the apartment building, he felt a twinge of apprehension. Where was it coming from? Why was he feeling it? Did it even mean anything?

All of these questions he decided to ignore as he continued the trek, his heart beat accelerating and getting louder with each weighted step. His stomach was in knots, his mind in a blur, and suddenly at the top of the stairs he saw her.

Just as he did when they first met. _A whisper of thrill…_ She nodded at him, a smile painted on her lovely face. She opened her mouth to say something and just as the words were beginning to flow out, Arthur tripped. When he looked up again, she was gone.

Noting whether or not he should use other means, he wrapped his hand around the door knob and twisted. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He frowned as he removed the gun from his belt, carefully and quietly pushing the door open as he did. He stepped inside, the apartment was as it was yesterday. The walls were white, the curtains draped over the windows were varying colors ranging from orange, purple, and bright green. There was book shelf in the corner and plush sofa sitting in front of a wall plasma.

It was a well domesticated home that felt like a graveyard: cold, damp, and ominous.

He lowered his gun to his side.

He cried out as he felt the blow to his head. He barely had time to turn around before she kicked him in the stomach making him drop his gun to the floor. She slammed her foot down over it and kicked it to the side. He was doubled over, clenching his fists into his stomach; it was quite a blow. He groaned and she, angry and adrenaline drunk, prepared to deliver a side kick to his head.

He caught her foot before she could, throwing her off balance. With this advantage, he pushed her foot away causing her to slam down to the floor. He stood up and grabbed the stoker from the fire place. He swung it at her head and she rolled out of the way. When she flipped, landing on her feet, she pointed the gun at his back and pulled the trigger.

_Crash!_

The bullet pierced through a vase in the kitchen just as Arthur turned and kicked the gun out of her hand. He lifted the stoker, ready to bring it against her head once more when she, alert as ever, caught it with both hands. They pushed against each other, the only barrier being the stoker, holding it over their heads like rams.

She kicked him between the legs and when the stoker was released she threw it far aside. She looked down at him and exhaled heavily.

"Come on, Arthur," she put her fists up and stared at her fellow point. "Leave the accessories to kids and fight me like a man."

She delivered another roundhouse kick, catching his head. She knocked him down and stood over him, lifting her leg again to slam her foot against his chest. She stomped him down and he groaned. She jumped on top of him, separating her legs as she did; she sat right over his hips.

"I cheated," she said as she pulled out a thick row of string.

As she leaned down, Arthur lifted his head as fast as he could and practically threw it against hers. She cried out and he turned, attempting to crawl to the gun. She pounced back on his back and wasted no time wrapping the string around his neck.

"Never go toe to toe with someone responsible for your success."

Arthur's eyes turned red and watered. He reached and clawed but only at the floor. He tried gripping the string but he had no chance. He felt the air being sucked out of his lungs, he felt the life being sucked out of his brain and he felt like a disappointment to them.

The next sound her heard was loud and booming, leaving a ringing in his ears and a heavy weight on his back. He was also left with air in his lungs and circulation to his body. He gasped for air and ripped the string away from his neck.

Next to him, he saw Gaetana lying on the floor, a pool of blood under her head and a hole in the back. He, mesmerized, turned around and his eyes widened as he saw the man standing close to the shut door.

"She was the bad guy, right?" Eames said in mock confusion.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged but really positive ego buffers.  
>Warning: Forgive me if the chapter is a little inscrutable.<strong>

"Eames!"

Arthur practically jumped to Gaetana's side. He lifted her and shook her hoping that, despite the gaping, bleeding gash in her head, she was still alive. He looked at her dead blue eyes and he groaned as he pushed her off of him. He stood, facing Eames, giving him an ice cold deathly glare.

"What?" Eames asked, twirling the gun around his finger. "She was asking for it; you can't tell me that you genuinely believe that she didn't deserve this."

"Are you mental?!" Arthur pushed the Brit but to no avail. He was still weak. "I needed her! I needed her! What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you even here?"

"I was helping you but I'm guessing a thank you isn't going to be mentioned."

"Why would I thank you, you solipsistic fuck?"

"Cobb told me that she was involved, that you said she was involved, why can't I kill her?"

"Stupid sonuvabitch," Arthur's voice was still cracking. He turned, exhaling heavily. "I don't have the name of everyone! I only have four – three now."

"Five. Just because she's dead doesn't mean she's exempted and you did kill that poor bloke in Vegas."

Arthur turned. "How'd you know that?"

"Please that had you written all over it."

Arthur, ever incredulous, simply raised his brows in response.

"For fuck's sake, you shot him in the ear," Eames retaliated.

"What does that mean…?" Arthur trailed off and looked around the apartment. "We should really get going now."

"Oh," Eames said lightly, as if Arthur reminded him to pick up his keys. "That is a wonderful idea."

"Why is it such a bad thing that the choke holder back there's grip has loosened?"

Eames was lying on the small (surely impure) bed in the equally impure motel. At the petite dining table just outside the kitchenette Arthur, burning holes into his laptop, was bent over in burning concentration.

"You shouldn't have come here, Eames," Arthur said as he typed furiously on the keypad.

"I've noticed that you're going to completely ignore the fact that you were nearly killed by a girl," Eames chuckled. "I thought it to be quite amusing."

"It's because of you that I don't have any leads."

Eames sat up slowly. He watched Arthur for a moment.

"You don't know anything yet?"

"Like I said I only have a few names. None of which are people who were the master minds behind it. That's why I would have liked to have the chance to speak to Gaetana."

Eames suddenly felt a wave of guilt and sorrow rush over him. He knew what happened to Ariadne and Nat but he didn't go to the funeral. He hadn't even called Arthur when he found out. He stayed cooped up Madrid, mourning from afar.

"I'm really sorry I didn't go to the funeral," he choked out. "I wanted to, it was just that-"

"I know you have a family, Eames, you don't need to apologize." Arthur's eyes had grown darker and harder when the funeral was mentioned.

Eames suddenly felt overwhelmed. Sure, it had been his decision to hunt Arthur down, even though it was the slightly pressing matter of the concern in Cobb's voice every time he called. But he hadn't thought of how it would be to deal with Arthur at this juncture in his life. It never crossed his mind that Arthur, his dear old pain in the ass of a friend, would resent his presence and that he would resent him for the funeral. He never, for a mere second, thought that Arthur wouldn't be the Arthur he knew.

Aside from this, Eames felt disappointed. He had done his best to be discrete about his life in Madrid. He tried to hide his wife and his son from his past. Yet, all this time, Arthur had known.

"Really," Eames managed to breathe out. "I am sorry. Even with my responsibilities, I had every intention to come."

"You should really stop talking now, Eames."

Arthur jaw was locked tightly and his eyes were becoming darker with every second that passed. His shoulders were tensed and he was practically shaking with the rage he was trying to contain. These minuscule changes in character didn't go unnoticed by the forger.

"I'm sorry."

He whispered it this time. He didn't intend to bring Arthur's buried items to the forefront. He didn't mean any harm. It's just that every time he looked at his friend's face, he wanted to apologize for what happened.

This time Arthur stopped typing. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists tight.

The ticking of the clock slowed down and he was somewhere else...

"_You're what?"_

_Ariadne swallowed, attempting to calm her sobs. "I'm pregnant."_

_His entire world was constricted into one tiny, flat, insignificant marble and over it was sitting something larger than life. He pushed away from her and stepped backward with a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth._

"_No you're not," he insisted, pleaded actually. "You can't be. No, no, no, you're on the pill and I practically _always _use a condom so either you're lying to me or…" He trailed off._

_Ariadne caught his eye and held him into a cold, trapping stare. Her eyes widened in disbelief and a tear fell as she heaved._

"_Either I'm lying to you or the baby is not yours," she whispered. "That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?"_

"_I'm not trying to say anything, this is not a game of pictogram, and I'm not insinuating anything. I'm telling you exactly what I think is going on here."_

_She reached up, wiping the tear from its trail as she crossed her arms. "If you're the expert here, who's the father?"_

"_I don't know," he shrugged. "I have no idea."_

_She shook her head once, her eyes completely focusing on his. "I'm sorry," she said coldly._

Arthur clenched his fists in his hair, practically pulling it out as the memory began to fade. He clutched on to his hair and hit himself with his left hand. He grunted every time his fist made contact with his forehead. He could hear Eames, far away, yelling at him, telling him to stop, asking him if he had gone crazy but he couldn't listen. All he saw was her. And he had to get her out. Otherwise, he'd never finish this job.

_Brown eyes. _No.  
><em>Dark hair. <em>No.  
><em>Fair skin. <em>No.  
><em>Soft lips. <em>No.

"_I love you, Arthur."_

"NO!" Arthur screamed loudly, his lungs burning, his heart pumping battery acid, and his veins running hot. He could feel her everywhere. Because of Eames, her presence was stronger than it had been before. He didn't want her here, not like this. He wanted her here and alive and smiling. Why had he been so stupid? Why did he decide to make a mistake like this, risking her? Why hadn't he gotten pistachio ice cream instead of caramel swirl? Why did he have to get them killed?

Why can't he take it back?

Arthur felt the tears rushing down his cheek.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged but really positive ego buffers.  
>To anyone still reading this story and still reviewing, please please pretty f-ing please tell me what you think might be missing. I feel this is dying down.<strong>

The cold light emitted on the warm surface of her skin. The pistol balanced his good and evil deeds. The cold metal was pressed hard against her skin. He felt himself pull the trigger. This was the pain, the agony, the guilt, the incessant melancholia that came with killing the person you love more than anything. She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes and at the same time he caressed her soft hair, he pulled the trigger again. This time, the bullet shoots into her chest and right through her heart. He catches her before she falls simply because that is all he can find the energy to do. He holds her, her blood seeping through her clothes onto his and kisses her as if she were still there. Then he drops the gun and looks for the one responsible.

This was what he felt every single day of his life.

He warned himself not to get involved because he knew he was going to. He told himself not to fall in love because he already was. And he told himself not to hurt them because he had already let them die. Now, his hands shake. His heart is uneasy, skipping over some beats while doubling up on others. His breathing is unsteady, every time he inhales, he shakes violently and every time he exhales, he feels as if he has to catch his breath. His vision is blurring, not because he's been afflicted with blindness, even though he has in the psychological sense, but because he can no longer hold in the flood gate of tears. Since the funeral, he thought he couldn't cry. But the truth was that he convinced himself that he was done with it. When in reality the feeling of being overwhelmed was to such a high degree that he checked himself out.

It was as if this entire time, he was on vacation from his body. A vacation of self torment. A vacation of dwelling on mountains of losses. A vacation of Hell. On this vacation, his vessel was allowed to walk freely and do as it pleased. Luckily, it was alone and wasn't at all jolted awake by the harsh realities. Eames ruined all of that. He not only pulled him from his safe haven of despair and self pity, but he awakened him to the truth. He opened his eyes again. He forced the soul back into the vessel. And now the vessel was weak. Weakened by the truth, weakened by anguish, weakened by everything.

Arthur looked up at Eames, as if he were looking at him for the first time since the last time. And he hated him.  
>"Why are you here?"<p>

Eames, ever the mind reader, treaded carefully towards Arthur before taking a seat on the floor, leaning up against the bed. "Cobb was calling me. He told me things about you and I _thought_ that I should find you. And help you."

"Are you here to convince me to stand back?" Arthur wanted to say more. He wanted to scream at the older man for walking into the middle of his self destruction. He wanted to tell him to get out of his life. But, for the moment, all he could do was lie there and try to appease his feral curiosity.

"No, I'm not." Eames stared at Arthur a moment longer before continuing in a downtrodden voice. "I really did go through all of this to find you and help you in your quest to shed blood. I wanted to make sure we got the bastards. I wanted to make sure you didn't kill yourself doing it."

There were so many things he could point out at this moment, but he settled on one. "You weren't even at the funeral. You don't care about them. You're as good as the LAPD. I wonder why she even called you a friend."

Eames shrugged. "I always wondered why she called a complete arse like you a lover. A friend. A husband."

"I'm dealing with my debt to her. I wasn't any of those things and I understand that but I was there and I tried to help. And she…she really thought of you like you were her best friend in the entire world, like you were her brother. And you couldn't even go to the damn funeral."

"I tried," Eames retorted sharply. "I really did want to come-"

"You could have!"

"But I figured," Eames continues as if Arthur hadn't interrupted him. "If they were after you, they were after me and I couldn't just leave my family defenseless."

Eames doesn't mean for the last part to come out but it does: "Not like you did."

That stung. It stung like alcohol. It stung so badly that it almost felt good. "You can leave then. You can go back to your wife and your son. You don't have to worry about me; I'm fine."

"I know how happy she made you," Eames is at risk here and he knows it but he doesn't want to tread softly any longer. "I knew it whenever you looked at her. You saw a future for the first time and for the first time in a long time, it was bright. Arthur, you can try to pretend it doesn't affect any more but here's the thing: I just saw exactly how bad an affect it has had and I knew you when she was here."

Arthur just stares. He's done warning him. He's actually here. And he wants to hear this.

"I saw you when she was here; we all did. You have never been happier, more exuberant. And you never will be."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if you're sure you want to continue this, fine. But just know that nothing and I mean _nothing _will change."

"I'm not suspecting that there will be any change, I never was. But I am suspecting that no one here," Arthur throws his hand up for a second to suggest that 'here' was another place. "Gets out alive."

Arthur stands to his feet, unbuttoning his cuffs.

"You do know that, right?" Eames asks warily. To Arthur's nod, he asks why.

"Because I want to know, if not for me, why did someone decide to kill them. If they wanted me dead, they'd still be tailing me. If they wanted me dead, they would not have left pictures in my car. If they wanted me dead, they wouldn't have timed it all so aesthetically perfectly that I would have been suspected by the cops. She was a target. And I have to make her problems mine. I have to break some deserving teeth."

"What are you doing?"

"The problem is that I've been sitting inside, in the shadows, trying to find reasons when what I really need to do is get dirty. I'm going in."

"Going in where?"

"Rothko."


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

"_How long would it take?" _

_She shrugged, her small shoulders quivering from exhaustion while she caressed her flat stomach absent-mindedly. "It's better than being holed up here."_

"_It isn't like you have the energy to do anything anyways," he explained quietly. "This, the detox, is taking a lot out of you. And combined with the pregnancy—I just don't see how you could even manage a job right now."_

_Ariadne glared at him, ready to pounce on him for his sexism, no doubt when he held his hands up in defense. _

"_I'm not saying you can't do it," he continued. "I'm just saying I don't know if you should do it right now. Jesus – look at you, you're sweating. You're shaking. How are you even gonna be able to think clearly enough to come up with the planning?"_

"_Okay," she held up her own hand. "Don't be a prick. I know where you're coming from, I get it, I do but staying here…sitting in this house all day, every single day is not doing a damn thing for me either. It isn't helping the detox, in fact, I have a strong feeling it is making the detox more painful. I feel like I'm losing my mind, put some yellow wallpaper up and I'm a goner."_

_Arthur was tempted to retort but bit his tongue, practically splitting it in half. He observed his wife, a typically beautiful and graceful woman, and she was a mess. Her hair was knotted, her skin was red and blotchy, she was sweating. All the time. It didn't matter if it was freezing in the house, she was always sweating. He imagined her in a strait jacket and shuddered at the image. She was right._

"_Tell me about this place again," he asked of her in a low voice, gentle and supportive._

* * *

><p>"Why do you say his name so ominously?" Eames inquired humorously, a smile coming on to his face, easing the tension and traces of worry. "I'm no big fan of his, frankly, I don't understand his work but I don't think Mark Rothko was that bad."<p>

"Rothko Industries, surprisingly, has nothing to do with the artist," Arthur said clearly, keeping his eyes ahead on the road. "And, yeah, I don't really get his work either. Rothko Industries is the first and only legal job that Ariadne had when we got married. When she got pregnant, she created layouts for them."

"So it was an architecture firm?"

"Sort of was, sort of wasn't."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, they told everyone they were an architecture firm and, as far as everyone knew, they were. Ariadne was the one who put those ideas into visions, she was brilliant. She became the head architecture at the place within a few months," he recalled with a smile.

"Atta girl," Eames smiled.

"But the industry is a cover," Arthur said this next part with a hint of disdain in his voice. "It's associated with dream sharing. They've got people all over the world working for them, completely oblivious to what it really means to be a Rothko employee. Not as big as Cobol, but more ruthless."

"I'm sorry, you knew this and you still had no problem letting Ariadne working there?"

Arthur shook his head, partly at Eames but mostly at himself.  
>"It was when she was sick. Remember? When I found out she was pregnant, she and I did a detox. You know the serums we use during dream sharing are hard to get rid of. Her body was rejecting everything because of it and, with the pregnancy, she was practically dying. She couldn't take, she had to get out, understandably so. So she went. She didn't know what she was walking into and I let her walk into it…I guess I felt better about myself if I wasn't the only one still in the business. Selfish, huh?"<p>

"As per usual, dear," Eames answered quietly. "Was this detox before or after you accused her of infidelity because you didn't want to believe that Natalie was yours?"

Arthur almost stopped the car completely, but instead slowed down dramatically. His hands became coiled around the steering wheel like it had been melted to the object, forever attached. His knuckles were whiter than snow and he saw intense red. It hurt.

"After," he answered.

On the passenger side, Eames said nothing but narrowed his eyes at the driver. "Are you insinuating that perhaps, Rothko Industries is what's behind what happened?"

"If it's not me, it's them…which would still make it me, I guess."

"So what about the people on your list? Do we just forget all of the research you did, throw it all the way to chase a theory?"

"You killed Gaetana," Arthur reminded the Forger quietly. "I can't do anything with the names on my list just yet. I – "

"We," Eames corrected.

"_We_ need to go back to Gaetana's," Arthur continued. "We have to lookout for cops and the like, go through her stuff. See if we can find anything useful."

"And after that?"

"After that, I need you to fly to Los Angeles. I need you to go there, to Rothko. I need you to get Ariadne's stuff. If she has anything left there, pick it up. But whether or not there is, it is imperative that you retrieve the file they have on her."

"And leave you here? Like you said, I've just killed Gaetana. Whoever she is associated with, they'll come looking for you— "

"And I'll kill them too."

Eames leaned back into his seat. "Do you think this is something Ariadne would have wanted you to do? Honestly? Do you remember what she was…how she was?"

"It hasn't been long, Eames. It hasn't been long…I remember her really well. I remember them really well. That is exactly why I'm doing this. Because I have to rely on memory to live with them. Only memories. Not that they aren't fascinating in their little miracles but they aren't enough. Ariadne would hate me doing this. And who knows, she probably hates me. But I'm still doing it. Even if she was here to stop me, I'd still do it."

Cobb's words start making rounds in Eames' head, going through every nook and cranny in his brain until its imprinted in his mind. _The last guy that looked at Ariadne wrong is paralyzed from the waist down._

"Did you paralyze someone?"

The question catches Arthur off guard and, had he been standing, Eames is sure he would have stumbled. He takes his eyes off the road for a moment and turns to Eames. "What?"

"Cobb said you paralyzed someone for looking at Ariadne the wrong way," Eames says it with a hint of amusement in his voice. The thought of Arthur attacking someone over something so trivial was both disheartening and hilarious.

Arthur shook his head. "Not true. Exaggerating."

Eames shakes his head and disbelief. "You're a hotheaded one, aren't you?"

* * *

><p>Gaetana's apartment is swarming with every authority a figure one could imagine. There a two police cars and one black car with such a powerful presence, it just screams 'detective'. The rental car is parked a few miles off, hidden in the shadows of the night. Far enough to be inconspicuous but close enough to have the perfect vantage point. The Forger enjoys the view with a pair of binoculars while Arthur, inattentive, immerses himself in what his life was before the fire. Before Natalie, his angel. Even before the suburbs.<p>

He was almost always on the run, in hiding, and it made his life with Ariadne a living Hell. She left him at one point. Oh God, how he wishes he had left well enough alone, how he wishes she stayed gone, away from him. She'd still be alive. And Natalie would be some other man's daughter. She'd still be alive too.

But he was tired of feeling sorry for himself. But all the same, it hurt. The fire that killed him was still burning and it was ripping his flesh a part. He wondered when it would die out.

"You're thinking so loudly, Arthur, I can't even focus." Eames' voice disrupts his thoughts and he grimaces. He did need Eames here with him, someone to take the risks so that justice still had the possibility of being served but, goodness, at what cost? There was never a moment alone.

And he brought Ariadne with him.

She was in the back now, leaning against the driver's seat, looking up in the direction of Gaetana's apartment. She was pouting and looked at Arthur sadly.

_"Do you have to do this?"_

"Yes," Arthur answered her immediately. Her voice felt so good in his ear, her voice flowed into him and he inhaled her being. "I have to do this, it's important. It's important to you."

"Okay," Eames shrugged in accordance. "I see where you're coming from. It was my choice to come here so what right do I have to complain, yes? But Arthur, I'm trying to help you."

She touched his shoulder and he looked her in the eyes for the first time. Her hand caressed his body, so warm, so welcoming, he shivered. _"I want you to live, Arthur. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean you should die too."_

"Right, I should find someone else," Arthur laughed sarcastically. "Please, you're the only one for me. What could I do without you?"

Eames looked annoyed, rolling his eyes. "No need for the sarcasm."

_"You have no idea what you're getting into, honey," _she touched his face, her palm warming his cheek, igniting so many different feelings in his heart. _"Walk away."_

Arthur shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. _I can't._


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Reviews are not only accepted and encouraged, but really positive ego buffers.**

Gaetana was a slob.

With a vantage point solely focused on the upper crust of her home, it would seem neat and well organized. The police offers hadn't accounted for a totally thorough search but they did have cops guarding the residence to shield off prying eyes. This was something that Eames had been surprisingly, not to mention disturbingly, prepared for. After handing Arthur a fake FBI badge, the two went up to the remaining officers before Eames rattled off some highly detailed bullshit about how Gaetana Bruni was a wanted felon in the United States and that the FBI was called in.

Surprisingly, they believed it. They even took a break like they were told and within minutes Arthur and Eames were racketeering their way through Bruni's home. Eames called dibs on the underwear drawer as if Arthur had been the least bit interested to begin with. Arthur started with the filing cabinet in the corner of the living room even though it had _**OBVIOUS **_and _**NOT IT **_written all over it. He wanted to be alone with Ariadne who made herself comfortable on the sofa, reading a copy of a Proust novel.

The first drawer was pulled open.

"Why are you here?" Arthur inquired in a low voice, thumbing through the alphabetized files.

Ariadne looked up from her book momentarily and shrugged. "You do know I'm not really here, right?"

"Of course I know," his voice got a little louder than he anticipated and he shook his head. _Did he know that she wasn't really there?_

"But why are you…I dunno, haunting me?"

Ariadne laughed. It was quiet but it was there, it was her laugh for sure. "Boo," deepened her voice, "I'm here to haunt you until you avenge me! Get over yourself."

"That doesn't answer my question," Arthur mumbled, hoping that if Eames heard anything, he would just brush it off as Arthur reading from one of the documents.

"You brought me here," she stood up and gave the living room a once over. "I should be asking you."

He smiled half-heartedly as he took what she said into consideration, rolling it over in his mind. "I can summon you?"

Once again, she laughed but this time she rolled her eyes. "Someone has read way too much Poe in his lifetime."

She walked closer to him until they were standing shoulder to shoulder. Until Arthur could feel her presence, until he would rather be dead and gone than to be away from her in that very moment.

"I'm not really her, Arthur. I'm sort of like your projection of her but you've brought me to the forefront. Notice anything about me?"

Arthur turned to her for the first time that night, expecting to see his wife but no. She wasn't really there, not just physically, her presence was non-existent but _she _wasn't really there. It wasn't Ariadne. Not the one he knew. He could tell by the way her lips were a shade brighter than Ariadne's, by the way her hair was more tousled, the way her eyes were changing shade every second that it wasn't Ariadne. It was his mind's projection of what he remembered. And what a disappointment. He couldn't even say he really depended on his memories anymore because this representation of his wife was shit for reality.

He turned back to the files.

"Why didn't I bring Natalie in? Why'd I get you?"

"Because Natalie was only a year old when she died, she couldn't speak to you, tell you right from wrong. So you used the person who told you most and here I am. I'm kind of like your conscience but I'm also not. Consciences are supposed to keep you in line and I'm not really doing a good job of it."

"Right, so why don't you just go? I don't need you here, I can handle this."

"My presence is clear sign that you can't. And you don't know how to either. I have a feeling, this odd feeling that your Ariadne would disagree with what you're doing."

"My Ariadne disagreed with a lot of things, some of which I would call idiotic notions. She thought I was too protective of her."

"Oh yeah, that guy…what was his name? Eden …"

"_Ethan_," Arthur corrected, knowing exactly where Ariadne's shade was going.

"Right. Paralyzed. Because of what?"

"If you're a projection, why are you even asking? You're me, you're my mind, and you know exactly what happened."

It shrugged. "I'm only trying to get you to see the fault in your ways. Something you think Ariadne would do."

Arthur was opening his mouth to object when Eames called his name from the bedroom. He turned toward the bedroom. "What?!"

"You may want to take a look at this," was all Eames managed to say. In all of his years working with The Forger, he had never known him to be at a loss for words.

He turned back to the shade only to find the room completely empty aside from himself.

Arthur walked into the room quietly and found Eames standing beside the closet with an envelope clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were focused on the ground and his lips clamped shut tightly. Arthur detected the smallest shake in his hand. He stepped forward cautiously, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Eames," he started weary. "What's the matter? What is it?"

Eames' eyes rose to meet his and he shook his head slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain but his voice failed him and once again his eyes fell to the ground. Arthur wanted to reach for the envelope, rip it out of his hands and see what it was that paralyzed Eames so much. To scream and yell at him for treating this discovery like it wasn't his too, like it wasn't his more than anyone's.

But he didn't.

Eventually Eames shook out of his paralysis and his eyes met Arthur's again. "Yusuf is dead."

Arthur wouldn't admit the disappointment and resentment growing in his heart; what did Yusuf have to do with his wife? Why does he care that he's dead? Instead he frowned as Eames nodded his head toward the envelope in his outstretched hand.

"It says there that he's been eradicated."

Silence passed between the two once again. It filled the room. It laid down on the bed. It stood in the small space between them. It made itself at home in the apartment. Then it left all at once.

"Arthur," Eames began thoughtfully. "Did you work with Yusuf after Inception?"

Arthur shook his head slowly, panic rising in his mind and heart. It couldn't be. Not after all of this time. Eames began shaking again, his eyes darkened, his mind started turning.

"They weren't just after her. They're after all of us. _He's_ after all of us."

Eames leaned in closer. "Fischer's memories came back."


End file.
